Twice as Much as Half
by Svendances
Summary: Sequel to "An Afterword" Steph's daughter isn't the most normal kid around, what with her mother being dead and her guardians being two of the most protective people in all of Trenton. What happens when she starts to get curious about her Mama's life?
1. Meet Me and My Life

_This is the sequel to "An Afterword". It's advisable that you read that first so that you understand why things are the way they are in this story. However, if you're daring, I will not stop you from reading this without it. The idea came into me head after re-reading some of my olderstuff, and I thought the concept was humorous. Let me know what you think and if I should continue._

**Twice as Much as Half**

I've often fantasised about being a normal kid. I've dreamed of it ever since I started school and realised I wasn't. In my dream I have a mother who is a housewife and a father who works in a local factory and they both love and adore me very much. In the evenings mum will make a pot roast or meat loaf and we all sit down to eat as a family at exactly six o'clock without fail. The family dog comes to meet me at the door and licks my face in greeting when I arrive home from school each day and sleeps at the foot of my bed at night. Mum teaches me to cook and sew and we have tea parties in the living room with all my dolls as guests. Dad takes me to the park on weekends and helps me climb the monkey bars even though Mum says I'm too little. When it storms we sit together in the kitchen playing board games by candle light and when I have a nightmare I crawl between them in their big comfy bed and they both wrap their arms around me until I fall asleep again, whispering words of love and comfort.

The reality of my situation is that my father is a homicide detective with the Trenton Police Department and my father is the owner of a security company named Rangeman. Yes, you read that correctly, I have two fathers and they're complete opposites, let me tell you. Dad (the detective) was a by the books kind of guy, he was all rules and regulations and you can't do that it's illegal. Papa, on the other hand, introduced me to a gun at age twelve, taught me the fine art of breaking and entering at thirteen and last year on my fourteenth birthday sat me down for a bit of a toke. Sometimes I think he does these things just to get on Dad's nerves, other times I think that they've just always been under each other's skin anyway and there wasn't a lot either one of them could do about it. After all, old habits die hard.

The living arrangements in my patchwork family are rather complicated. My permanent residence was listed as a vacant lot, the same as Papa's, this was another of those things that got on Dad's nerves. During the school term I lived with Papa in the apartment on the seventh floor of the Rangeman building. This was for stability, I had been informed when I enquired after the arrangements. Both my guardians' work schedules could be unpredictable and often were, but the fact that Papa lived in a building with many other permanent residences, including most of his employees as well as Ella, the housekeeper, and her husband, the property manager, won the stamp of approval for sufficient supervision from my grandparents, all three sets of them (but we'll get to them later). School holidays, crime rate permitting, were generally spent with Dad and Bob the dog in his two story house. New Year's, Easter, Christmas, 4th of July and any other major holidays that may have slipped my mind were spent together and Grandma and Grandpa Plum's.

That's the basic break down, but it's a whole lot more complicated than that. For the sake of your sanity, though, I'll leave it at that and add to it later on when it's absolutely necessary. For now we'll just move on with some relational details, shall we?

You may have noticed that I have not mentioned my biological parents. This is because I don't know them. I don't even know _of_ my father. Nobody seems to know who he is, so we don't talk about him. My mother, on the other hand, was a hot topic when she was mentioned. Everyone had stories to tell me about her and there was an endless supply of photos of her. She had died when I was barely 

a year old of an inoperable brain tumour. Dad and Papa say that she was one hell of a woman (this is the only thing they ever seem to agree on).

Apparently I had inherited her sense of adventure as well as her unruly curls and vibrant blues. Great Grandma Mazur loved to regale me with tales of Mum's days as a bounty hunter. Her favourite story to tell was when she had blown up the funeral home, of course every other story came as a close second. We would sit for hours in the living room, her going on and on about how mum used to roll in garbage and me listening raptly. Grandma Plum would cross herself and roll her eyes to the ceiling every time she overheard her telling me about the penis that Mum had once received by special delivery. It made me wonder if Great Gran was off her rocker like Grandpa said, and all the events she told me about were just a product of an overactive imagination. She certainly seemed to be the only one to ever talk about them. I tried asking Papa about them once and he'd just laughed and shook his head. Dad's reaction was to change the subject immediately, so I guess there must be some kind of truth to it.

The Plums were my blood Grandparents and Great Gran was Grandma's mother. In addition I also had Papa's parents, whom I called Abuela and Abuelo, and Dad's mum and grandma, Nan and Nana Bella. We had to give them all specific names like this so that I was spending half my time clarifying which grandparent I was referring to. I had a few cousins that I didn't particularly like spending time with, which was okay by Dad and Papa, so we never went out of our way to see them.

So that's all the background I can think of to give you at the moment. Anything else can be added in as needed. Right now, however, I guess I should get on with my story:

I sat on the bench outside the front entrance of my school, waiting. Papa had arrived a minute ago and was making his way across the crowded car park toward me. Dad was late as always. Tonight was the part of my life that I really didn't like. Parent night. Each year at the end of the first term schools held a night where teachers and parents could meet and go over anything that may concern them. My particular situation caused a plethora of weird stares all night, which I had learned to tune out quite early on, they were now no more than a backdrop for my life. Of course the assumption most outsiders made on first finding out that I had two fathers was that they were gay. Which, for the record is _soooo_ far from the truth it's laughable.

My friends all thought it was cool that I had two fathers. Unfortunately, this year saw me changing schools and leaving those friends behind. The tale of _why _I had to change schools is a long one, so suffice to say that "KABOOM!" is not the favourite sound of a principle, even if it was an accidental KABOOM! So I had been thrust into a new environment with new people who weren't all that ready to accept my differences. My old friends and I had been together since kindergarten, my differences had become normal to them. These girls, however (and I use the term loosely. One could liken them more aptly to serpents, but we won't go into that), sought me out each day to ridicule my life. I ignored it of course, but it still gets on my nerves to know that these pompous girls won't accept me for me because of my family status. It makes me want to kick them in the teeth, but I know that that would put me in the naughty column of the admin register, so I tamp it down. Tamp it down.

"He's not here yet," I said simply as Papa approached. "He's late. He's always late. We should have told him an earlier time."

"We did tell him an earlier time," Papa deadpanned.

"Where is he? He knows he's supposed to be here. Why can't he be on time just this once?"

"Relax, Genny, he'll be here. He knows how much this means to you."

Sirens blared in the distance, slowly getting closer. That would be Dad, no doubt. "I hope he turns that off before he gets here!" I groaned into my hands as I hid behind them. Papa was on his cell phone in an insant, probably calling Dad to tell him to shut the damn siren off if he ever wanted to be allowed anywhere near me ever again. He has a real way with words. Minutes later Dad pulled into the lot and ran swiftly through the cars to where we stood. He hugged me, and I allowed it before taking a steadying breath and turning to lead them both through the front doors to the small assembly room just down the hall. All heads turned to stare as we entered, but none of us took any notice, we were good like that.

"Well," the woman I had come to know as the year co-ordinator began. "Now that we're all here I suppose we can get started." She rubbed her hands together. "As most of you know, tonight is about smoothing over any concerns you and your family, or your teachers may have concerning school life. Each family is required for a five minute session with the councillor over here to the left of the stage. The times are listed on the back of the map you were handed on your way in. The teachers will be stationed around the room. You should each have a list of which teachers require time with you, so don't let me eat up any more of your time, go mingle."

"Gen, which of your teachers want to see us?" Dad asked, a pained expression on his face. I totally understood his apprehension, this was a new environment and there would be a lot of questions to answer and weird looks to ignore. I was old hat at my previous school. The only teachers I ever had to see at these nights there were the ones that thought I wasn't performing up to standard. Here every man and his dog wanted an interview, just for the curiosity factor. Curiosity killed the cat, my friends. I know this. I've seen this. It wasn't pretty.

I held up the slip I had received in form that morning so that he could see it. "All of them," I sighed, just in case he couldn't put two and two together. "When's our time?" I asked, referring to the most dreaded event of the evening. The councillor visit. That's where all the most embarrassing questions came out.

"In about five minutes," Papa said steadily. He was always like that. Never conveyed his emotions out in public, especially at school functions, unless it was that he was proud of me, or pleased with something I had done. Dad had a bit more trouble with the task. There was a lot of teeth clenching and knuckle cracking on his part. Me? I just tried to zone out as much as possible. It seemed to work for me.

"There you are!" came an excited voice from behind me just before I was seized in a hug. "Great Freya, I thought you were going to skip out on me and leave me alone to behold the stares of rejection. I'm so glad you came!" Carefully, I extracted myself from the vice like grip and turned around to face my attacker. It was Hailey Stewart. She was in all of my classes. Why she was hugging me like an old friend was beyond me, we'd never even spoken to each other, unless you count me asking her whether staying awake during English was worth it and her saying, 'Probably not'. I knew absolutely nothing about her, other than that she liked a bizarre flavoured of gum and her hair was 

never the same colour three days in a row. "How many teachers do you have to see?" she asked in barely more than a whisper. Her eyes were intense on mine, silently begging me to play along.

I did, mainly because this was the first time any of the girls who went here had spoken to me for any reason other than to ask if I really had two Dads. "All of them," I told her. "How about you?"

"All of them. Not that I'm surprised. I always have to see all of them. You'd think they'd be sick of me by now." She twittered out a little laugh and I did the small imitation laugh I had perfected at age five. A man cleared his voice behind her and she jumped, startled. "OH!" she exclaimed, "This is my caretaker, Henry, and his wife, Georgia."

I held out my hand politely and told them it was nice to meet them. They returned the favour, looking past me, searching for something. "Where are you parents?" Georgia asked.

_Great,_ I thought, _let the freak show begin._ I sought Dad and Papa out over my shoulder, but couldn't see them. A sigh escaped me and I asked for a moment to go find them. They were only a few feet away, but a pot plant that looked more battered than a leaf on the horse racing track. Dragging them back to where Hailey and her caretakers were I heard Dad mumble something, but ignored it. "This is Joe Morelli, my dad," I started, indicating to my left. "And this is Ricardo Manoso, my-."

"_You're_ that girl?" Hailey asked before I could finish. "I thought it was the dyke from our science class that sits a row in front of you!"

"Papa," I breathed in resignation. "Yeah, I'm that girl."

"Cool."

"Hailey, where are your manners?" Henry admonished.

"Oh right! This is Magenta Plum, she's new this year. We're in all the same classes." She thrust her hand out to Dad and Papa and continued. "I'm Hailey Stewart. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Dad looked at his watch and coughed, prompting me to glance at my own. "Well, we should get going, our councillor appointment is right about now. See you tomorrow Hailey."

"You said you hadn't made any friends yet," Papa intoned.

"I haven't," I replied through gritted teeth. "That was only the second time I've spoken to her. The first was three weeks ago outside our English classroom, and the entire conversation consisted of about ten words."

"Watch your back around her, Genny, she may be up to something." This was Dad's comment. He always said stuff like that when Papa got that suspicious tone in his voice. It was mostly to lighten the mood a little, but tonight I was taking his words to heart. _Everyone_ knew that _I _was the girl. That she seemed to be the only one that didn't worried me.


	2. The Finale

_Woot! An update! Thanks to the two people who reviewed my first chapter. Hope this satisfies your thirst for the moment_

**_Twice as Much as Half_**

Chapter 2

"Some of the teachers are concerned about Magenta's performance and participation in the classroom," Walter Scott, the guidance counsellor informed my guardians. I hate it when adults talk about me as if I'm not even present. It makes me feel like sucker punching them, but I don't, because I have to control my actions. "They were wondering if there was anything in her home life that could be affecting her school life in this way."

Dad looked accusingly at Papa, who spared him not even a glance, simply replying, "Of course not. Everything is fine at home. Now, could you be respectful of my daughter's presence?"

We'd already been sitting here for about three minutes, unless I'd slowed my counting in my head, in which case it was longer than that, and I didn't want to spend another second with this man. His clothes just screamed "_I'm a wanker!"_ with his green and yellow horizontally striped polo shirt and khaki coloured pants and penny loafers. Who in the world wears _penny loafers_? I mean, seriously. In the immortal words of Reliant K, "Penny loafers are absurd. 'Cause I don't know why on earth you would take your two cents worth and put them in your girly shoes... Why not use quarters, so then you can make a phone call."

"Yes of course," Walter agreed, looking me in the eye, as if that actually made up for his earlier disrespect. "Now, we did speak earlier in the year about the special circumstances of your family arrangement."

"What special circumstances?" I asked pointedly. "There's nothing special about our family arrangement. It's no different to if Susan's parents were divorced and had joint custody. I still have a curfew. I still have rules enforced on me. I still have chores. How are my circumstances 'special'?" Yes, I was frustrated. Yes, I was agrovated. But I had every right to be. This dickwad was labelling my circumstances without actually knowing all that much about me. "Just because I have two male guardians and no mother does not make my circumstance special. You're just labelling it as special because you're afraid of discriminating. Well guess what! I don't like being referred to as special. I. Am. Normal. If you think-."

Dad placed a hand on my knee to quiet my protests, while Papa situated his own at the nape of my neck.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Magenta." _Damn right you've offended me._ "But with your family structure being how it is, we fear that you would be excluded from certain activities. If not by the general description of the event, such as the Mother-Daughter evenings that have been planned, then by your peers."

"Oh come on!" Dad exclaimed. "Surely she's not the only kid in school who doesn't have a mother. What do the other girls do? Accept that they're 'different' and can't attend those events? Or do they allow substitute mothers? Aunts perhaps? Grandmothers?"

"Certainly there is a large number of motherless girls attending the school, but you must understand that each of their circumstances are different. And, I'm afraid, they are all quite a bit different to your own."

"This blows," I muttered under my breath, crossing my arms under my breasts and hefting one leg over top of the other. _Closed body language_, Papa calls it, when a person wants nothing more to do with the subject at hand. Let's hope they get the hint.

"Surely this isn't the purpose of these meetings," Papa commented, his hand still at my nape. This was a comforting gesture he had maintained all through my life from before I could remember... at least I assume it was before I can remember, considering that I don't remember those parts of my life.

"No, the purpose is to address any issues you or the school may have come across in the first term of the year. As I mentioned before, some of Magenta's teachers are concerned about her participation and performance in the classroom."

"I'm right here," I said exasperatedly. Can you tell that I don't like to be ignored? I think I've made it pretty clear so far.

"Some have even reported her sleeping the whole way through their classes."

"Still here!"

"It makes us wonder if she gets enough sleep at night. She clearly displays a disinterest in many of the subject areas she chose to study this year. Are there any complications that the school should be aware of?"

Gritting my teeth, I began impatiently jiggling my leg. This asshole was going to ignore me no matter what. Luckily, Papa's powers of persuasion surpass any other's on this earth and he managed to draw the meeting to a close not long after.

We said goodbye to Dad an hour and a half later as we stood on the front steps of the school. It was Papa's last weekend with me before he had to relinquish me to Dad for the holidays and he apparently had big plans for it. I wasn't complaining. I liked spending time with Papa and his men.

Oh! I haven't told you about his men!

Well there are about a gazillion of them. All with huge muscles and most with a military background. Looking at them you wouldn't figure a single one would be able to tell you what twice two was, but they were all really intelligent, which was a great help when it came to homework. Think about it; I had an entire company worth of knowledge practically at my fingertips (once I taught them all about instant messaging and showed them how to use the programs, that is). I had the official okay from Papa to bug anyone in the building wearing Rangeman black (Plus Ella) for help with anything (within reason, of course). Anyway, I liked to call the guys The Lost Boys, because they liked to kid around a lot and looked at Ranger like he was Peter Pan or Wendy or something... maybe I was Wendy... I don't know, I try not to think about it all too much. Fact is, they're the Lost Boys because they would follow Papa anywhere.

Once a month we have a movie night in the rec room downstairs. All the guys that aren't on duty that night cram in and we order pizza from Pino's and I'm allowed one friend over, provided that they have passed the Papa test. The Papa test is kind of complicated, and probably a little invasive. So, I tell Papa who I'm thinking of inviting. He asks unlimited questions about her (it's always a her, I'm not allowed boys over) then looks up her criminal record and her parents background. That's the simple part over. When her parents drop her off (this is a prerequisite. Parents must accompany child to building) he interrogates them (in the actual interrogation chamber!) while I entertain my friend on the comm. floor. If the interrogation goes well, Papa will pleasantly say goodbye to the parents and ensure they are gone before having one of the Lost Boys crash tackle me (while standing right beside her) and another hold a gun up to her face. If she could endure this without complete and utter break down and was actually willing to stay, then she was permitted. Otherwise it was back to the drawing board.

Needless to say, once I found a friend that didn't mind my father's antics and actually passed the Papa test, I kept that one girl for the rest of all movie nights. That girl was Amelia Gerard. My BFF (Best Friend Forever, for all those who are not down with the lingo... _Dad_). Amelia and I go right back to preschool. We met on the first day and became instant friends (because it's that easy when you're young. _Hey! You have eyes and finger! I have eyes and fingers! We're the same! Be my friend_).

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, a totally packed weekend with Papa before going to Dad's for the holidays. Well, I was lectured the entire ride home about paying attention in class and doing as the teacher says, like he can talk. I've never once heard a tale of him actually obeying police orders. Of course, I've not heard all that many stories of him at all, being that the Lost Boys are so tight lipped about everything in the past, but, I like to imagine that he was very defiant. As soon as we entered the underground parking garage, however, a smile graced his face and he grew silent.

Standing by the elevator (which, subsequently I was forbidden to use after a certain incident involving silly string, a stink bomb and the elevator getting stuck...) were Tank, Lester, Bobby and Junior, all grinning madly. That didn't happen very often; movie night and my birthday, that's about all I can think of. It made me nervous. They were definitely up to something. Those grins were freaking me out. And Papa was smiling too. Not nearly as rare as Tank lead me to believe it was before I came along, but it still gave me a funny feeling.

I didn't even have enough energy to make it to the couch in the apartment. I collapsed on the floor just inside the living room door and made no effort to find a more comfortable position even though it hurt like hell to lie on my arm the way I did. I was covered from head to toe in practically everything you can imagine could cover me after spending time in the woods and then some, but I didn't care, I just wanted to sleep. Papa and the boys had taken me camping... sort of. It wasn't the type of family camping situation you see on TV, far from it, in fact. There was no cabin, no tent, no sitting around a campfire toasting marshmallows and reminiscing (the only marshmallows present were the ones that I snuck in the small pack I was allowed to take), no friendly games or fishing or anything that you would expect. Truth be told, it felt like some kind of boot camp.

The six of us were armed with paint guns, separated into pairs (Papa and Lester, Bobby and Junior, Tank and me) and handed an envelope with our secret starting point contained within it, by Woody (who apparently organised the whole thing for us) early on Saturday morning. The aim? To 'kill' them before they kill you. Naturally, that included a lot of planning and strategy, these guys are ex-military, remember. It was a very full on weekend to say the least.

Tank and I decided to profit from everyone's knee jerk reaction to protect me. Once we had acquired all the intelligence we needed (where the other teams were based, any plans we may have eavesdropped on) and gotten a feel for our surroundings (this was more for me than for Tank, who had spent much time in these woods for training exercises and what-not), we started stalking around quietly avoiding, while still looking for, the other teams. We had our packs on our backs, have decided not to set up a permanent camp and our guns slung over our shoulders, but at the ready. After a while (and by a while I'm talking a few hours, it was after nightfall) we came up a few yards behind Papa and Lester. They didn't hear us as they were discussing tactics of some kind, so we retreated a way to finalise the plans we had formulated earlier.

He ran steadily ahead of me, never breaking stride or checking behind him to check on me (this was planned). I stumbled along a fair distance behind, puffing and panting and grasping my side from a fake stitch. The path he took lead us straight past Papa and Lester, just a few metres away. Once he had passed them I called out.

"Tank!" It was breathless and whiney, but loud enough to carry. "Slow down! I can't run anymore!" To add to the effect I had taken a few minutes to suitably redden my face and dampen my brown from 'sweat'. I increased my pace for a moment but 'tripped' on an imaginary tree root, right in view of the enemy. With a girly squeal (which I had been known to release from time to time), I fell forward, letting out a hefty, "OOF."

"Gen!" Lester called, slightly panicked. He especially could never stand to see me hurt, or sick, or in discomfort. When I had gotten my tonsils out he'd done everything in his power to make sure I wasn't sore or uncomfortable, he even went so far as to give me a pager in case I needed him while he wasn't there. "Are you okay?" He was right next to me now, kneeling down to help me up.

"Just dandy," I grumbled, pushing myself up on my elbows and giving a grimace like the small action hurt. "Stupid trees."

He held out his hand to help me up (now on his feet again), but I refused it.

"It's a trap!" Papa exclaimed, but it was too late, Tank had already circled back around and landed a paint bullet right where his heart is. Lester, taken by surprise by Papa's exclamation, was too shocked to defend himself when I jumped up and plattered a couple of paint bullets so that they matched.

"Can we say mortally wounded?" I crowed amidst my impromptu happy dance.

Tank, Papa and Lester grinned at me and replied in unison, "Mortally wounded."

"We have about a minute before we're dead," Lester informed us, "If you want any information from us you should take it now while we're delirious with pain, but still able to think."

We took what information we could before they did their pathetic dying act and slumped back to the ground to wait out their corpse time in comfort. It turned out that they had nothing that we didn't already know. Unfortunately for us though, Bobby and Junior found us before we could find them. Again it was a few hours later. They got me first. I was sticking close to Tank so I didn't get lost (my orienteering skills were absolute shite), when I felt the impact through my vest, right between the shoulder blades. I was dead.

"Tank," I whispered, pulling his hulking self to the ground with me (we'd agreed not to resist gestures like that, because it was better safe than sorry), "I'm dead. Save yourself." With that I sagged, face first, into the leaf litter and mud. He took only a second to check my florescent green 'wound', before he picked up his gun and started firing into the trees. He wasn't even looking where he was shooting; instead carefully scanning the area, looking for the source of the bullets that he was somehow dodging. I knew the moment he spotted them because he dragged me in front of himself, using my 'corpse' as a shield as he stood up and began rapid fire. I hung deliberately limp from his grip and watched the paint bullets stream through the air toward us in amusement. I could just make out their expressions through the trees, a mixture of disbelief, shock and determination. The bullets pelted my vest leaving a pretty smudging of colours combining into a horrid brown colour so that in the darkness of the extremely early morning it kind of resembled blood. Tank's bullets hit Junior first, riddling his chest with multicoloured splatters until he fell backwards, 'dead'.

He got a real feral look on his face as he continued to fire at us. The ancient rivalry that was present in everything they did was now fully awakened. The grim set of his mouth was a bit scary given that I was directly in the line of his fire. I shuddered at the very moment that a bullet splattered right between his eyes. Now dead, he fell limply backwards to join Junior on the ground.

Tank set me down on the ground and I pulled out the two way from my pack. "Papa? Lester? Come in. Over."

"Loud and clear. Over," Papa replied through the static.

"Papa, I'm dead. Over."

"What about Tank? Over."

"Alive and well. Used my corpse as a shield. Over."

"Bobby and Junior? Over." It was Lester this time. I can only imagine what Papa had done with the information I'd given him.

"Dead and deader. We'll meet you by the car in a few. Over."

By the time we got home the adrenaline of the past twenty four hours had worn off and I was barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to climb the stairs to the seventh floor (yes, even in sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion he made me use the stairs, though he was right behind me the entire time with a hand at the small of my back). Papa unlocked the door and gave me a shove toward the living room, intending for me to go through to the bathroom, but I gave into my drooping eyelids and absent brain activity and settle half heartedly on the floor three steps from where he'd shoved me. I heard him chuckle as he caught me under my arms and dragged me to my feet again, dragging me to the bathroom where he stripped me down to my singlet top and boy leg cottons (while I protested feebly) and stuck me under the cold spray of the shower. I sputtered and put my hands up in an attempt to shield myself from the sudden onslaught.

"PAPA!" I squealed, indignant, but it had done what he'd intended. I was awake.

"Clean up, put on some clean clothes then go to bed. I'll wake you up at four thirty this afternoon so you can get ready for dinner at Grandma's." He turned to leave, then turned back for a second. "Don't fall asleep in there. I don't think many people would be happy if you drowned."

"Got it," I nodded.

_Thanks, as always, for reading my stuff. Please review. _


	3. Everything you think is all in your head

_Okay so I finally know what the complication is gonna be for this story, which will hopefully help me to get it updated more regularly. Thanks to those who reviewed, they mean a lot to me. Here's the next instalment for your enjoyment (or not if that's how it strikes you, I can't choose how you feel about it.)_

Chapter 3

I opened my eyes expecting, as always to be blinded by the harsh morning sunlight streaming through the gap in my curtain that I always failed to fix the night before. It wasn't there. In its place was a disorienting wall of solid black. I say disorienting simply for the fact that I hadn't awakened in the dark since I was seven. Now don't interpret that the wrong way, I don't have a nightlight or anything like that, heaven knows Papa would never allow such insanity. No, I just never woke up during the night. Okay, I lied a little bit, I've woken up at four in the morning on a few occasions for trips and emergencies, but that was largely due to a lot of effort on Papa's part, and he always turned the lamp on to do so, so it wasn't completely dark when I opened my eyes. Now, however, the room was black as pitch. Darkness, I could handle, but waking up in the middle of it for the first time in seven or eight years had me a bit on edge.

A murmured conversation drifted to me from somewhere down the hall on the other side of the door. It must be closed. My hand fumbled for the lamp switch while my eyes squeezed tight to brace for the impact the instant illumination would cause. After cautiously re-opening my eyes I inspected the now dimly lit space. Just as I'd suspected, the door was closed. What surprised me, though, was the metal panel where my window should have been. That had never been there before, I'd have noticed it if it had been. I pushed myself into a sitting position to inspect it more closely, an ominous feeling developing low in the pit of my stomach.

Why would Papa black out my window with what looked like reinforced steel?

Only one explanation came to mind, _to protect me._ Before the thought was finished running through my head I was at the door, pulling it open and searching for the source of the murmured conversation.

"Papa?" I called, panic making it's way into my voice despite my efforts to stay calm. "Papa? Where are you?"

The conversation I had heard was actually the talk show playing on the television in Papa's room. Papa wasn't there. I continued on to the living room and found him on the couch speaking Spanish into his cell phone. He turned to give me a quick smile as I entered and it froze on his face. I guess the panic that was in my voice had made it to my face.

"I'll call you back," he said, hurriedly snapping the phone shut and tossing it aside as I approached.

"You can tell me the truth Papa," I whispered. "I'm a big girl, I can handle it." The only reply I got was a raised eyebrow, full of question. "Something's happened." It was more a statement than a question. "What's wrong?"

"What are you talking about?" His voice was calm, but laced with concern and curiosity.

"I woke up in the dark," I started to explain. "The windows..."

Papa was shaking his head slowly, his eyes widening just a bit. He glanced at the clock on the wall and realisation seemed to wash over him. "I'm sorry," he uttered, grabbing one of the many forbidden (to me) remotes from the sideboard. With his other hand closed reassuringly around my own, he led my back to the doorway of my still weakly lit room.

I started to ask a question, to find out what was going on, but he cut me off with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. "You've always slept restlessly during the day," he began softly. "Even when you were a baby. I figured it was the amount of light in the room, so I had the black out panel installed." Lifting the remote, he hit a button and the steel began to disappear into a grove in the windowsill that I had never given a second glance. "Your sleep during the night hours has been peaceful right from the get go, so I thought I would simulate the night for those times, like today for example, when you absolutely needed to sleep or you would endanger yourself and everyone around you. When you were a kid, putting you to bed with the black out activated actually _made_you fall asleep."

Again, I started to speak, but he cut me off with his next statement.

"I realise that waking up in the dark probably freaked you out, but I had it timed so that it would deactivate before your eight hours were up." That was another thing about me, I could never sleep more than eight hours at a time. "I guess I forgot to factor in the half hour you somehow slept through in the shower. Standing up, I might add." He was teasing me now, but we both shook our heads and muttered in amazement, "Like clockwork."

"You didn't-," I started, a small wave of shock hitting me.

"No, of course not. I had Ella do it. I know better than to cross that privacy line. I never want to see what you have."

"Thanks Papa." It was oddly comforting, until I remembered that he had been on the phone before my bout of paranoia. That realisation sent an onslaught of guilt through my every particle. It wasn't right that I was constantly pulling him away from his work. "Was it important?" I asked; my eyes averted o the afternoon sunlight hitting the building across the road through the window.

"Nothing that can't wait until office hours," he assured me, wrapping an arm around my waist. "You will always be more important than anything that they can come up with." With a kiss on the top of my head he lead me out of my room and toward the bathroom. "Why don't you freshen up? We'll be leaving in a short while."

Typical Sunday night dinners at Grandma's house are not in the slightest bit uneventful, especially when Great Gran was palming her meds again, which she happened to be doing at current, as evidenced by the immense amount of drool and the attempted groping of Papa and Dad. They both avoided it flawlessly while pretending not to notice. I was thankful for this as it made it easier for me to ignore her antics. It wasn't that I didn't love her, or that I wasn't concerned for her well being; I was just too tired to deal with it at the current moment. I could have done with a hell of a lot more sleep than I got, but there was no way to make that happen. _Stupid internal alarm clock._

"Genny, you look like you're about to fall asleep in your potatoes," Grandma said. She had been carefully avoiding the topic of my exhaustion since I mentioned the 'camping' trip. The only reason for this was that she knew Papa well enough to know the innocent camping of regular people with the tent and the camp fire and the scary stories, was not what I meant by camping. Of course I called it camping because to tell her exactly what I had been doing would send her straight to the secret stash of booze under the stairs. "Maybe you should skip dessert and go home to bed."

Instantly, I was wide awake. Nothing in the world would make me miss out on Grandma's pineapple upside down cake. It's a weird concept, I know, but it felt as if the food was essential to my existence. I mentioned it to Dad once, but he'd just rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded vaguely like, "Not another one."

"I'm fine, Grandma," I insisted. "No need to hurry home. I can stay for dessert." Dad and Papa laughed at this whole heartedly, a rare occasion when they were both together. I was pretty sure I was the only one that could make either of them smile, let alone laugh. It was kind of creepy if you asked me, not that anyone has, but you're just being subjected to my viewpoint anyway, so I can say whatever I want.

By the time I was half way through my usual humungous piece of cake it was impossible for me to keep my eyes open any longer. I felt my eye drift closed, and my head loll. I wanted to protect my cake from the inevitability of my face smashing into it, but my arms seemed disconnected. The scent of the delicious food became strong as my head made it's descent, but the next thing I remembered was waking up in my bed at Dad's house with only the dim light from the bathroom down the hall illuminating the room. Bob the dog was lying on the pillow next to my head, his wet dog pants hitting me in the face with each breath.

I made a fairly educated guess, based on what time dessert was served and my regular sleeping habits, that it was approximately three in the morning. It would be another hour at least until Dad even thought about getting up, but that thought did not deter me from climbing over the huge mound of a dog sprawled between me and the edge of the bed and making my way downstairs to the lounge room. Not much ever changed here. It was still very much the same as when I three. Chip packets were still left all over the couch, floor and coffee table, beer and soda cans accompanying them. The couch still had the blood stains from when I cut my head open on the corner of the end table and passed out against the cushion when I was seven. The television was wider screened and higher definitioned, with a better sound system, but that was a result of Dad's work buddies all chipping in for the system for him for his birthday because they were sick of watching the game on his 'crappy outdated television with the coat hanger antenna'. It wasn't quite that bad, but in comparison to the system he now has, it was completely stone aged.

My first action was to remove the garbage from the room; just the packets and cans, anything that was gooey, crushed into a gazillion pieces or seemed to be mouldy was left in its place for a more thorough clean later when I wasn't trying to keep the noise down. I flipped the couch cushions so that they were slightly cleaner but still was not game to sit on the filth I found, so I grabbed a sheet from the cupboard and spread it over it. Once the couch was suitable for temporary habitation I sprawled upside down on it, feet in the air, head hanging over the front edge, with the '_channeller_' in hand. I made sure the sound was right down and switched it to some mindless sitcom re-run.

Bob came and settled on the cushion beside me with his head on my stomach staring his big sad eyes at me and making me all paranoid. It was like he knew something about me that he couldn't share (obviously, because he's a dog).

An episode of "Who's Line is it Anyway?" was just finishing with me in a fit of giggles when Dad came down stairs in his robe looking bleary eyed and in need of a hell of a lot more sleep.

"Morning Dad!" I called cheerfully as he shuffled toward the kitchen. He mumbled something unintelligible and went straight to the coffee maker. "How'd you sleep?" I asked, launching myself from the couch and following him in. I sat on the table with my feet on a chair after pulling a bowl and spoon out of the cupboard and grabbing the frosted flakes and milk. He didn't answer, so I assumed he was still relatively asleep. "You're looking particularly dead this morning, is everything okay?"

"Fine," he mumbled, taking the seat next to me at the table, coffee mug in hand. "Just tired." Dad had always been an early riser, especially on week days. In fact, both my fathers were insanely early risers compared to the stories Amelia. It was impossible to get her parents up in the morning. This new development made me curious, and concerned.

"Are you sure, Dad? You're not usually this tired when you've just gotten up."

Nodding slowly, he took another sip of his scorching hot drink before replying. "Had a hard couple of days, I guess they're just catching up to me."

At that moment I knew that he was keeping something from me. He had some secret locked away inside of him that I was not privy to. There was only one thing for it. I had to utilise the skills I had picked up from Papa and his men to get to the bottom of this. For that, I needed reinforcements. This was a job for my BFF, Amelia 'Meli' Gerard.

"I have to work today, I'm afraid," he continued, obviously becoming more human with the caffeine. "I'm really sorry, I wanted to spend the day with you, but there's this case..." he trailed off for a moment. "We'll do something fun on the weekend okay?"

"Dad, I'm fifteen now, I can handle the fact that you have responsibilities and I can entertain myself. Do you mind if Meli comes over?"

His grin was unexpected. "Still close then?" he asked, as if there was any doubt. "You know I don't mind her. So long as there aren't any boys involved." The grin faded into a more sombre expression with this last phrase.

_Thanks for reading, please review. Next chapter we get to meet the unflappable Meli and go on a bit of an adventure with her and Gen._


	4. Ambush

_Just a couple of thing: Number one, Meli doesn't use regular curse words, she substitutes cleaner words (eg: filth and poo). Number two: I know nobody's reviewing, but I noticed a few people had this story on their alerts, so I felt compelled to update this chapter. In future though, I'm not updating unless I get at least two reviews._

**Chapter Four**

Meli arrived right on time, as usual, with all the junk and stuff that would be required for any kind of investigation. It wasn't that she put it all together at my request after hearing my suspicions over the phone. It was that she always carried it with her. She was like an ultra scout, always prepared. I once got a run in my stockings and she was right there with a spare pair the exact same size and shade. Quite frankly, I had no idea how I survived at a school without her, my own disorganised mind tended to forget anything that was not immediately in front of me, which is why I refused to close my closet doors and renovated my chest of drawers so that I could see into them. If it weren't for the fact that I could see my underwear through the purple tinted Perspex I would probably go commando most days. I shudder at the thought. The phrase, "Out of sight, out of mind" really was an extreme notion with me, not that I hadn't been working on my dilemma. I now keep clearly visible check lists at every check point throughout Papa's apartment: My bedroom door, the kitchen, the bathroom, and of course, the door leading to the elevator.

But I digress.

The moment I opened the back door (yes, she always comes to the back door. She was very put out upon learning that Papa's apartment did not have a back entrance save for the window, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't the type to scale a seven story building just to visit a friend. She had settled with the back entrance of the entire building, but still griped about it on the occasion.) I was thrown to the ground in one of Meli's signature bone crushing 'I missed you, you bitch' hugs. I've gotten one every month since I changed schools, and I still have the feint bruise on my shoulder from the last time when she pushed me full force into the edge of an end table. I was flat on my back, trying to get some air into my lungs when she suddenly slapped me upside the head. Shock ran straight to my face (all too expressive as far as Papa was concerned) and I blinked up into her face.

"Wha-?"

"I hate you!" she whispered menacingly. I was about to try to articulate my question again when she continued. "You know what I realised last week? All the guys I dated up until this year? Yeah, they were all because of you. Not a single guy has spoken to me since you left to go to that snotty lesbian school. Wait, that was a lie. A couple of guys have spoken to me. To ask about you. What is so damn special about you that you get all the damn guys? And why did you have to leave in the first place? If it weren't for you I never would have realised that I am not the least bit attractive! I would have been happy believing that those guys actually liked me for me!"

Finally at the end of her rant, she sat back so that her weight, slight as it was, rested heavily on my pelvic bone, crossed her arms over her moderate chest and stared at me pointedly. Waiting for answers apparently. I took a deep breath and began methodically working through the questions I remembered from her tirade. "I have no idea why guys like me so much, but you can guarantee that I'm not getting attention from any of them anymore. As you pointed out, I'm now at an all girls school. The most attention I get now a days is from butch girls who where flannel when they're not in those horrible blazers." She huffed in a 'serves you right' kind of way. "You know damn well why I had to leave. It was your fault."

"It was not my fault. You didn't have to put the smoke bomb in the toilet!"

"You Double Dared me! And you employed Darer's Day Off!! How was I supposed to back down?"

"Whatever. The point is, I'm trying to talk my parents into sending me to that hoity-toity school that you're getting your education from these days. Dad's all for it, says there are too many guys lusting after me and he can't afford another court order if they start trying to get closer to me. "Mum, on the other hand is worried about the lack of male attendants and is afraid I'll turn on my fellow females."

"You'd think their concerns would be financial situation."

"Yeah, go figure. I can't believe mum's so concerned about my sexuality though, I mean, seriously. Where does she get these ideas?"

In reply, I simply looked down my body to where her feminine area was situated uncomfortable close to my own, given the current topic of conversation. She saw the uneasiness on my face and wriggled her hips response. An unknown feeling jolted through my body for a moment and I was compelled, through confusion, to push her off and scramble to my feet.

"Oh come on," she groaned from her place on the floor. "You're such a homophobe."

"I'm not a homophobe," I said defensively. "I just don't like the thought of girls coming onto me."

"Honey, I've known you over half my life, it would be weird to come onto you." She hadn't stated that she didn't swing that way, she simply told me that it would be weird to have a thing with me. Was that something significant? I don't know, but my brain was storing it away for future encounters like the one that just transpired. "Anyway, enough about gays, what kind of incriminating evidence are we looking for today? I only ask because of what happened last time."

Last time, of course, referred to when she found incriminating evidence of a father's crime that I did not suspect Dad of. I spend the following week avoiding them both (Meli and Dad).

"Dad was really tired when he got up this morning. He mentioned having had a 'hard couple of days.' We both know that Dad works hard all the time and has never been tired in the morning before."

"So what are your thoughts? Drugs? Dealing or taking? Either way could be interesting, and cause the fatigue. There's also every other illegal activity known on the planet. I mean, he's a cop, he'd know every back alley and loop hole. It'd be easy for him to conduct the activities undetected. Maybe he's just been taking extra shifts? Not really exciting, but it's still an option we should consider to begin with. Anything else?"

"He felt guilty for having to go to work today and not being able to spend time with me," I mentioned. "What does that tell you?"

"That he obviously needs to get to know you a bit more? Maybe learn what the typical fifteen year old girl is like? Or there could be a new interest in his life and he doesn't want you to feel neglected."

"Omigord!" I exclaimed. "Please tell me you are not suggesting that my Dad has a girlfriend! That's just wrong!"

"Well, it is a possibility. And he did mention that he's had a 'hard couple of days.'" She wiggled her eyebrows at me and I felt heat rush to my cheeks.

"Please, I don't want to think of my dad like that."

"Okay, I'll take the bedroom then. You take the study." She was rooting through her bag of goodies for God only knew what.

The phone rang as I was digging through the side table in the hall three hours later, making me jump and almost knock the lamp over. No one had ever called the house while Dad was at work before. They all just went straight to his cell phone. That probably meant it was for me. Or it was telemarketers. Or someone else...

I stared at the ringing phone for a full minute until Meli came to the top of the stairs, hands on hips glaring down at me. "Are you gonna get that?"

"No one ever calls," I muttered. I had the phone in my hand, but was now staring up at Meli. "No one has ever called the house when he's at work."

"A week of firsts. Answer the thing or I will."

I nodded numbly and pressed the talk button, moving the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number. I'm looking for Joseph Morelli," the cool female voice explained.

"Dad's at work at the moment. You could try his cell, or I could give him a message when he gets home tonight. It's up to you." _Why is some chick calling Dad at home on a week day during the hours that everyone knows he's at work?_

"Dad?" she asked curiously. "Joseph is your father?"

"Yes ma'am."

"He didn't tell me he had a daughter."

"Who, may I ask, are you that you feel he should have told you?"

There was a long pause on her end of the line. It was the kind of silence that people used to sort through things in their heads, so I guessed that was what she was doing. The seconds ticked by and I started to get annoyed. "I'm a... an... associate..." she finally explained awkwardly.

"Right," I said suspiciously. "Well, like I said, leave a message or try his cell."

"I'll try his cell." She didn't even utter a goodbye, just immediately hung up.

"WHAT THE FILTH!?" Meli screamed from upstairs. Her hurried stomping footsteps penetrated my mental fog as she made her way down the stairs. "Who the filth was that?" she asked more quietly from close by.

"One of Dad's associates?" I guessed.

She grabbed my shoulders roughly and shook me. "Gen, put your brain in, will you? There is no way that your Dad has associates ringing his house on a week day morning sounding like that when he's at work! And did you hear the surprise in his voice when you mentioned that you were his daughter? Gen, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but, your Dad is dating."

I couldn't breathe. It felt like I had been submerged in cold water without a respirator. My knees buckled and I felt the impact of my ass hitting the floor. Through my clouded vision I could vaguely make out the concerned features of Meli's face, just inches from my own. The roaring in my ears almost drowned out her words.

"Gen? Genny? Are you okay? What's wrong? Gen? Can you hear me? Honey you need to breathe. Gen? Poo. Who do I call? Dad? Papa? Les? Poo, poo, poo. Okay Meli, make a decision now. Dad would just get up us for snooping. Papa is probably in the wind. It's holidays, of course he's in the wind, he's always in the wind on holidays. Lester tends to overreact. Tank!" I was fuzzily aware of her reaching into my pocket and grabbing out my cell phone before I gave into the dizziness and collapsed backwards to the tune of her button punching.

_Two reviews, people. That's what it will take to continue the story._


	5. It begins

_Thanks to__ everyone who has reviewed since I chucked my minor tantie last chapter. Keep them coming and there might be another chapter before I go back to uni on Monday._

Chapter 5

Silence. Absolute silence. That's what I woke up to. Unfortunately there wasn't a complete darkness and all alone to go with that. No. I knew for certain that Meli was seated by my head (I believe I had been moved to the couch in the living room. Touch wood they left the sheet on it) as she was the only one who ever played with my curls and lived. Bob was breathing his I-ate-my-own-vomit-for-breakfast breath into my face from the right and I could sense another presence, familiar, strong, comforting. I thought about the events just before I passed out and made an educated assumption that it was Tank, the reasonable one.

"How long?" I asked, batting Bob's big dog head away from my face.

"Half an hour," Meli informed me. "Give or take fifteen minutes. I was a little too panicked to gaze upon a clock."

"Wanna explain what happened now?" Tank asked from near my feet.

I glanced and Meli, then Tank and my silent question was picked up by both of them. "I thought it would be better if you told him yourself." Meli explained at the same moment Tank told me, "She's withholding information."

A small chuckle escaped me before I could stop it, then I remember the reason for my fainting spell. Shooting daggers in Meli's direction, I sat up and began my explanation.

"When Dad came down stairs this morning he looked unusually haggard for having just gotten up. When I asked about it he said he'd had a 'hard couple of days' and they were probably just catching up to him. He then proceeded to lay a guilt trip on himself for not being able to spend the day with me. Why, I don't know, God knows I can entertain myself. Anyway, I felt something off about the whole exchange, so I called Meli to come help me investigate. We were searching, Meli in Dad's room and me in the hall, when the phone rang. I answered it and it was a woman, looking for Dad. She claimed to be 'an associate'. So that's when Meli came to the conclusion that Dad is dating and I promptly fell into a dead faint." I sent another glare at Meli and she had the gall to look innocent.

Tank nodded for several moments, processing the information, before turning to Meli. "What made you come to that conclusion?"

I really didn't want to hear this. I just knew that she was going to bring up some kind of incriminating evidence from the bedroom that would make me blush every time I glanced in Dad's direction. I didn't need to think about my Dad's needs. It didn't matter that he wasn't my biological dad, he had raised me as a daughter and that made him my Dad, which meant that I was not supposed to know about the stuff that he got up to in the bedroom.

"Well, all the information that Gen gave me when I arrived, plus a few of the things I found in Mr Morelli's bedroom." She shot me a glance of warning and I obediently covered my ears and began humming very loudly and tuneless while I quoted one of Shakespeare's speeches word for word in my head. I watched them while I distracted my ears, not paying any sort of attention to their mouths just in case I suddenly developed the ability to lip read. It started off as just the normal evidence giving and receiving, but then Meli's expression turned to one of curiosity and mixed with a bit of confusion and her hands began to make odd gestures. Tank's face, impassive until this point, suddenly became the picture of shock, distress and awkwardness. My brain made inferences as to where the conversation had led to and I quickly shut my eyes and rocked back and forth, moving on to translating said speech into Spanish.

I felt Tank's hand on my shoulder a few minutes later, effectively halting my rocking, and I cautiously opened on eye. "We're done," he told me.

"I have to jet," Meli said, grabbing her backpack from the floor. "Mum wants me home to minion-sit. I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"

I nodded numbly and she raced from the room.

Tank sat down beside me with a small sigh of relief and placed me on his knee. A surge of apprehension wreaked havoc on my system. He hadn't made a gesture like this since the day he gave me that something-happens-to-girls-when-they-reach-a-certain-age talk (yeah, that's right, Tank gave me the talk. Not Dad. Not Papa. Not one of my grandmothers or great grandmothers. Tank. Believe me, it was awkward). "Are you okay?" he asked, obviously feeling the need to give me a decent preamble to the topic he believed himself obligated to broach. I was thankful in anycase.

"Fine," I lied. Truthfully, I was kinda depressed. I mean, sure, Dad was a human being with feelings, and was entitled to live a little, but it didn't stop me from feeling like it was my fault he hadn't been living more. It was just like yesterday afternoon when I had interrupted Papa's business call with my bout of paranoia. These two men had practically given up their lives to take care of me out of love for, or possibly a debt to my mother. Papa put off business trips until school holidays so that he was always around for me, even though I can sufficiently take care of myself and if I fall into any trouble Ella and the Lost Boys are there. And Dad obviously feels the responsibility to spend time with me on the holidays, feeling guilty when he can't. On top of that he's hiding the fact that he's dating from me, so either he feels guilty for dating when he has me to look after, or he doesn't want me to know because he's not telling his lady friend/s that he has a fifteen year old ward. Times like these I hate my mother for dying. I know that she had chosen Dad and Papa rather than Grandma and Grandpa because she didn't want to burden her aging parents, but what about these two men that had lives of their own? Didn't she realise the sacrifices she was forcing them to make? If she had lived, I wouldn't have this accumulated sense of guilt. I wouldn't feel like such a burden.

I may not know all that about my mother, especially the events around her death and the decision to leave me in the care of Dad and Papa, but I knew now that I was going to find out no matter what it took. Previously, whenever I asked a question about her, I'd received little to know information. This had happened so often that I had given the pursuit up. Now, however, I was going to demand answers. As many as I could get, from anyone who would give them. I was going to insist that Papa tell me who my biological father was. I was going to find out all the information I could about my parents. Starting now.

"Tank, tell me about Mama." I felt the lump in my throat as I spoke the words, but surged on, ignoring the tears threatening behind my eyes at the same time.

"What do you want to know, Genny?" He seemed a bit taken aback by my sudden request, but the flash of expression that crossed his face told me that this could probably help the situation.

"Everything," I demanded. "I want to know everything you know about her."

"That's an awful lot for one afternoon, and half of it is better with visuals anyway," he admitted.

"Oh."

He grinned suddenly. "Tell you what. Your Dad's work regular shifts all week plus probably picking up some overtime on a couple of his cases, so tomorrow morning I'll pick you up and me, Bobby and Lester will tell you everything you want to know about your mom."

"Promise?" I asked, giving him a watery smile.

"Promise," he assured me, sticking out his pinkie for me to hook mine into. I laughed at the gesture I personally hadn't employed since fourth grade, carried it out anyway. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No," I confessed. "I feel lousy."

"Any particular reason you can pinpoint for this feeling?"

"I'm a burden. Papa puts off work and installs blackouts in his apartment because of me. Dad has secret relationships. I wish I was never born."

At the end of my sentence I found myself abruptly on my feet between Tanks knees. My hands were clasped firmly in each of his and after several blinking moments my eyes locked onto his to find them filled with a certain fury and indignation combination that I had never seen there before.

"You listen to me, Magenta, and you listen good. Don't you ever think for one cotton picking moment that you are a burden to _anyone_. Ric loves you just as much, if not more than he does his biological daughter. That much I thought was obvious. He brags about you to half his clients. Not once have I heard him mention Julie to a client. And it's _you_ he has a photo of sitting on his desk."

"Yeah," I muttered, interrupting his reassurance. "But it's a really embarrassing one of me in a dress."

"Have you noticed the only other photos in his office, Gen? They're of your mother."

"That's the only reason he loves me, because he loved my mother. You don't have to sugar coat it for me Tank. I know that the only reason they have me is because that's the way Mama wanted it. If it weren't for her last dying wish I'd be living with my Grandparents, and I'd probably still feel like a burden because they're old."

"In the beginning they were looking after you out of duty to your mother, yes, this is true, but they got to coax you through most of your firsts. Heck, Ric brought the first poo you did in the potty down to the comm. room and showed everyone. If that isn't love I don't know what is."

"But he could have had an actual life if it weren't for me. He could have found a woman, gotten married and had his own kids."

"News flash, kid. Your Papa was absolutely in love with your mother. He waited for a lifetime for her to be ready to accept him. He was shattered when she died. Even if you hadn't been left to him to look after, he probably would have immersed himself in your life. Being with you, even though it initially came with the horrible task of diaper changing and bathing and burping, he's happier than he would have been without you. Having you brings him that tiny step closer to having Steph back. I swear, he's been living through you since the day he clapped eyes on you."

There was a moment of silence during which I stared at the toe of my converse sneakers. "What about Dad, though?" I asked quietly. "He could have easily found someone to settle down and populate the world with as well. I'm the only thing that's prevented him from doing so."

He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again almost immediately. After a few thoughtful seconds he opened it again and gave his explanation. "It's hard to make you understand about all this since you don't know all the ins and outs of your mother's life... Your Dad was part of the reason your Papa was waiting. Morelli and your mom had this ongoing relationship of sorts... He thought he loved her and she felt compelled to be with him because of pressure from your Grandma. Anyone could see that it wasn't really love that kept them together, it was fear of the 'burg eye view on your mother's part and, now remember I'm only speculating here, greed on your Dad's part. He didn't like your Papa-."

"Still doesn't."

"-and therefore didn't want him to have what he most coveted. Does that make sense?"

"Kind of." I lifted my gaze to meet his briefly. "It doesn't really tell me why he's put up with me all these years if he didn't really love Mama."

"Same reason he kept a firm grip on Steph. Greed. And hate of your Papa."

"If Dad was so possessive of her, and Papa loved her so much..." I paused, thinking of how to phrase my question.

"Why isn't one of them your biological father?" he guessed.

"Yeah," I mumbled, staring back down at my shoe.

"That's a story best left for when you have more background on the topic, I think." He pulled me back onto his knee. "Your Dad still loves you. So does your Papa. There's no doubt about that. Anyone who knows you has to love you." He glanced at his watch. "I have to go, but I'll pick you up around eight tomorrow morning, okay? We'll have a huge meet your mother session." A moment of thought passed. "Probably a few sessions. She was a hell of a woman."

"So I've heard."

With a quick kiss to my forehead he was out the door, leaving me to muse over the plethora of information I had obtained from that one conversation. It made me wonder why I didn't simply demand to know about Mama sooner. Probably it had something to do with me not being ready on a subconscious level to receive the information that would have followed the demand. Either way, I was finally going to know exactly what my mother was like and that excited me. I'd be able to fill in all those blank spaces I'd deliberately left empty all my life.

I collapsed back onto the couch and my mind wandered over the events of the day thus far. Dad's weariness, the innuendo, the phone call, my fainting spell... The aggravation that suddenly shot through me at that thought reminded me of the reason I had passed out and I snatched my cell phone from the coffee table. I hit speed dial 3 and waited as the phone rang.

_Come on. Review. You know you want to._


	6. Arguments, childish as they are

_Again, thanks for the support. This one was written in the car today to and from shopping for Jesus Sandals and denim shorts. I'm really getting into the thick of it in my head now, so it's just a matter of getting onto the screen for your viewing pleasures. Don't forget to keep sending those reviews._

Chapter 6

Trenton Crematorium, you kill 'em, we grill 'em," Meli said perkily as she picked up the phone. _How appropriate._

"Death," I seethed. "Slow and painful. You'll feel every agonising second of it."

"No thanks, I don't feel like dying today." _Trust Meli to play dumb._

"You stunned me, you bitch!"

She covered the receiver with her hand to yell at Frankie the destructor, her seven year old brother. The words 'fire,' 'couch,' and 'strangle' filtered through to me and I got the gist of what was happening; Frankie was playing with matches in the living room. Just another day in the Gerard household. "I'm sorry, Gen," she said coming back to me.

"That's it?" I exclaimed. "You make it look like I've fainted to Tank, something I _never_ do, and all you can say for yourself is sorry?!"

"At this point in time? Yes." She paused for a full minutes and, like always, the moment I opened my mouth to prompt her, she continued. "I've got some stuff I need to sort through and I needed to talk to an adult I can trust, so I needed an excuse to call Tank."

That made absolutely no sense. "Why Tank? Don't your parents pay for you see a psychiatrist once a week? Why don't you talk to her?"

"Weren't you listening? An adult I can _trust_!" she yelled indignantly. "Everyone knows that you can't trust your psychiatris!"

"But why Tank?"

"I trust him. He's totally down with the Goddess."

_Totally down with the Goddess?_ I wasn't even sure if Tank was religious in any way shape or form. "Goddess?" What are you talking about?"

"Tank's not like other adults, surely you realise tha- oh poo! I've gotta go. Matt's just discovered the drain cleaner!"

The dial tone had been ringing in my ear for a good five minutes before I realised she'd hung up on me. I'd been going through everything in my head, trying to work out what kind of stuff she could possibly have to go through that she wanted to keep it from me. And why Tank?! I mean, sure, he's the easiest of the Lost Boys to talk to because he doesn't overreact or feel the need to report everything he hears, but still... wasn't there someone in her _own _circle of adults that she could confide in? It wasn't bad enough that I'd lost my mother before getting to know her at all, or that one, or both of my guardians didn't really love me, she had to encroach on my emotional crutch as well? As I shut the phone I blinked rapidly several times, trying to make sense of my thoughts. Clearly, I was delusional. Tank had enough headspace for two teenage girls to confide in him, didn't he? And blaming Meli for Mama's death and my resultant familial situation was just absurd.

I glanced around myself at the still grimy living room and decided to take offensive action.

By the time Dad walked through the front door barely an hour later at half past six, the grubby coffee table was clean and shiny, the dusty high def. flat screen was dust free, the would-be-maroon sofa was closer to its original colour than it was to black and there was a pile of odds and ends that I'd retrieved from the couch cushions sitting in a bucket waiting for Dad to sort through.

"I thought you were going to call Meli to hang out," Dad frowned, stopping in the doorway.

"I did," I said, trying to hide the stiffness in my voice. "We did. She got called home to minion-sit and I couldn't stand the state of this room any longer. I shudder to think of what it would be like if you didn't have me here every ten to twelve weeks to clean it for you. Have you ever thought of getting a maid to come in and clean once a week?"

He stared at me oddly for a moment before breaking into a huge goofy grin that irritated the shit out of me. "But then you wouldn't have anything to do when you come to stay," he told me.

"Dad!" I shrieked. "I'm not your bloody maid! I don't get any kind of satisfaction from cleaning up you filth, nor am I getting paid to do it! So either start picking up after yourself or hire yourself a maid, because I'm on strike. I'll clean up any mess I make, but anything else can stay there until it decomposes as far as I'm concerned."

A sigh heaved itself out from between his lips as he removed his gun (probably to remove the temptation of shooting me, I mused). "This is about Tiffany, isn't it?"

"If Tiffany is the name of your so called 'associate', then yes," I snapped, throwing down my dusting rag. "When were you planning on telling me about that by the way?"

"I'm sorry," he uttered quietly. "I didn't mean for you to find out like that."

"Just what exactly did I find out? The details are a little vague on my end."

"You're angry," he told me, as if I didn't already figure that out for myself. "I suppose that's fair." _More than fair._ He plonked a Mario's Sub Shop bag on the pristine coffee table and situated himself on the couch, patting the cushion next to him in invitation. "Sit down, Gen, we need to talk."

"I'll stand."

Okay, so probably I was being childish, but hey, I'm fifteen, this is a tumultuous time for me to begin with. I probably would have been alright with this had he spoken to me about it before hand, or even in the beginning. Who knows how long this has been going on?

"Suit yourself," he muttered, absently fingering the edge of the (freshly laundered) thrown on the back of the couch. "I've gone about this the wrong way, haven't I?" He was staring down at the clean floor so my deadpan expression was lost on him, but it made me feel a bit better to employ it. "I just... I don't know. I guess I was afraid you'd react this way."

"Bravo, Dad. I hope you realise how juvenile that line of thought is. I'm not angry because you're dating."

His gaze shot up and held mine for several long seconds. "Then... why-?"

"Think about it, Dad." I gave him a moment to see if he could make any connections in the cranial area. His continued blank stare suggested not. "How do you think it feels for me to come to stay for the holidays only to find out, on my first morning here, that-." That damn lump was back in my throat. I coughed lamely to try to dislodge it, but it turned into a pitiful sob. Cursing the blatant show of emotion, I grabbed one of the subs from the bag and stormed to my room to eat, stopping only long enough in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

Submarine sandwiches don't taste as nice when they're soggy with salty tears, but then, I can't think of anything that does. I cried, and ate and secretly wished I had nabbed myself I piece of Grandma's pineapple upside down cake while I was in the fridge. I'd devoured the sandwich by the time Dad knocked on my door.

"Can I come in?" he asked tentatively.

"No," I replied, savagely scrunching my wrapper and hurling it across the room to the waste paper basket.

"Can you come out then?" he tried as I swept the crumbs from the desk into my hand and deposited them in the bin as well.

"No," I said stubbornly. I stabbed at the power button on my laptop with my index finger while the nails on the other three fingers bit into the palm of my hand.

"I'm not going to have this conversation through the door."

I laughed harshly. "Really?" I asked sarcastically. "Because it sounds like we are. Do I need to get my hearing tested?"

"Gen, please!" _And the begging begins._ "I want to put things right. I don't like us fighting."

"I don't like us keeping secrets," I retaliated.

"Let me explain," he pleaded.

I began flipping through the CD's I had brought with me from Papa's. "I'm all ears." _Classical, Disney, Pop, Monty Python, So Fresh, Alternative, Bond, Shrek Soundtracks, Folk... where is it?_

"I told you, I'm not having this conversation through a closed door," Dad said, anger creeping into his voice.

"And I asked if I needed a hearing test, because I'm pretty sure we're already having this conversation through a closed door," I snarkily replied. _Country, RnB, Hip Hop... _"Must we repeat ourselves?"

"When you grow up, we'll talk about this like adults. Until then, I hope you like it in there, because that's where you're staying."

I heard the lock tumble (_Rock'n'Roll, Punk..._) and shrugged. "Fine by me." _Jackpot!_ I slid the Heavy Metal CD into the stereo and maxed out the volume. The floor and desk were both vibrating and the family down the street would probably have a headache before the hour was through, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

I connected to the wireless network and signed into MSN to check my email. _One unread._ It was from Papa.

_Genny-Babe,_

_Tank called this afternoon and let me know that you finally insisted on knowing about your Mama. I'm glad. I would have liked to be the one to tell you all the great things your mother did in her life, but the 'Lost boys' will do a fine job of it in my absence. Take everything they tell you with a grain of salt, though. They tend to have her up on a pedestal. Don't forget to ask Morelli and your Grandparents about her. You need a varied perspective. She touched everyone in different ways._

_When I get back we'll sit down and I'll tell you some of my own stories. I promise I'll answer any questions you like. _

_Be good (but not too good) for the cop,_

_Papa_

I gave a small smile. And hit the reply button. It didn't matter that he may not get my email for several days, I had to reply.

_Papa,_

_Dad's been dating. Did you know? He didn't even tell me. I had to find out by putting all the puzzle pieces together. A woman called while he was at work and was shocked to discover Dad has a teenage ward. We got into a bit of a fight when he got home and nothing was resolved. Apparently I was being childish, so I am now locked in my room until I 'grow up.' Luckily, when I stormed out I grabbed a sub and a bottle of water, but I wish I'd grabbed the leftover cake from the fridge as well. I could really use it right about now._

_Stay safe, I'm counting on those stories when you get back._

_Genny._


	7. Plum History Lesson No1: WasShoes

_This chapter took a little longer to write than the others, due to a need to actually do a little research for some details and my lack of energy last night to devout to said research. Plus it's a little longer than my usual chapters, just in case I don't get to update again before Monday. As always, thanks to my reviewers and keep 'em coming if you want more._

Chapter 7

Dad had already left for work by the time I rose the next morning and, luckily for him, he'd unlocked my door. It was seven o'clock when I was through with my shower and girly rituals and realised that my stereo had been turned off. It had been blasting at a level just below ear splitting when I decided to actually go to bed, because, while I have to have complete darkness to sleep properly I can cope perfectly with loud noises, and now the CD wasn't even in the drive. That had to be Dad's doings. He better hadn't have broken it, or scratched it. That CD had been bought out of my birthday money.

I was grabbing out bread for toast when my cell rang. Groaning at the display, I flipped it open and greeted the caller with half hearted, "Yeah?"

"You should learn to answer the phone properly, Magenta," came Dad's clearly irritated voice. "Is it too much to ask that you say hello?"

"Yes," I grated. "What do you want?"

"I was going to let you know that there was a large slice of cake in the fridge for you if you wanted to eat that for breakfast."

Sure enough, when I opened the door, there was a quarter of a cake sitting on a plate with a post-it note. I glanced at the note before screwing it up and chucking it in the bin and grabbing out the cake and milk. "Thanks," I said absently as I poured myself a glass of the cold white liquid.

"You didn't read the note, did you?" he asked a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I gave an affirmative grunt through a mouthful of cake and hung up on him. A moment later he rang back and I took evasive action, turning off the phone and tossing it onto the counter. The land line began a tirade and I ignored it. It rang steadily for the next fifteen minutes before he finally gave up. He tried paging me next, so that was the next communication device to be powerless.

Fifteen minutes later, as I was removing the dust bunnies from under my desk, the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on the dust rag on my way down the stairs before dropping it on the side table between a rotting apple core and pile of old papers. Righting myself after almost slipping over on an empty plastic bag in the hall I grasped the doorknob. "Who is it?" I called, employing the lifetime of caution that had been instilled in me at the very last moment.

"It's Tank." I flung the door wide and threw my arms around him in relief. He hesitated a moment before wrapping one arm around my back and placing the other on my head. "It's good to see you too," he said, slightly bemused. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," I quickly replied, ducking back into the house to grab my bag, phone and pager, despite the fact that the latter two were still turned off. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"You're cell and pager is turned off, you weren't answering the land line and you're not signed in to MSN. I was starting to get worried." He took a step back and to a long look at my face. "Something's happened. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine, can we just forget about this and get this day started?"

Half an hour later I was seated on the couch in Lester's apartment with Tank, Bobby and Lester standing in front of the television. There was a large – huge, really - mahogany chest in place of the coffee table that usually occupied the space between the television. It was the kind you imagined when you thought about pirate booty, complete with over-sized, ornate antique padlock. Inscribed on the front of the chest was Mama's name, "Stephanie Michelle Plum", followed by a phrase that seemed odd even to me, "The one and only Bombshell Bounty Hunter."

"Bombshell?" I asked, not looking up, but instead running my fingers along the words.

"It's a long story," Bobby explained. "We'll get to it later on." He sat down beside me, snaking an arm around my waist and pulling me in close to his side. "You're gonna love your mother when we're through here."

Shocked, I snapped my gaze to his face. "I already love her, Bobby. She gave me life."

"Other than that, though, what do you know?" Lester enquired.

"Nothing really." I thought for a moment. "Nothing for certain, anyway. That's why we're here."

"Sure is," he agreed, dropping onto the cushion on my other side and wrenching me away from Bobby and into his own side. It was days like these that I was glad the Lost Boys knew what deodorant was and utilised it on a regular basis, otherwise I would have been gassed quite quickly. After a moment or so he released me to run a hand over the smooth wood of the chest. "I haven't opened it since the day of the funeral," he told me, although he seemed to have retreated within himself a bit. His eyes were glazed and there was a peculiar half smile on his lips.

"Why not?" I was genuinely curious, and had every right to be. This was a box filled with memories of my mother that had been closed for almost fourteen years.

"I was waiting for this moment." Without another word, he handed me an over-sized, ornate antique key that matched the lock perfectly. I turned it over a few times in my palm, just staring at it. "It's only right that you should be the one to unlock it," he urged, wrapping my fingers around it so that it was in the correct position for me to insert it the lock.

When I glanced up, they were all smiling and nodding, but I noticed a sheen to their eyes that made me uncomfortable. "Can..." I started, realised the lump had once again jumped to my throat and coughed momentarily. "Can we do it together?" No words were spoken, affirmative of negative, but all at once they were crammed in on either side of me, each with a hand resting on mine. I took a startled moment to smile at them all, hoping that my racing heart would not break through my rib cage, and guided the key to the old lock. My mind was filled with all the possible treasures I would find within and an excited shiver ran down my spine. The key turned with surprising ease for a lock that had been in disuse for almost a decade and a half and my fingers began to tingle in anticipation.

"Ready?" Les asked. He was the first to remove his hand from my own, relocating to my shoulder where it was joined by its partner. Tank and Bobby each removed their hands and stood back a bit. I found myself kneeling on the floor, my hands lightly caressing the chest where the lid and the bottom met, hesitating.

"Ready," I breathed, grabbing the corners of the lid and heaving it upwards. It seemed like nobody breathed for a full minute, I know I was hold my breath. When I didn't immediately see what was inside the box I realised that I had closed my eyes and had been visualising the entire opening scene as I carried it out. Slowly, I let out my breath and opened my eyes. The view I was met with was one that didn't make all that much sense to me. It just looked like a jumble of odds and ends. There was a photo file and a scrap book amongst the paraphernalia, but the rest just seemed like random, pointless things. One item in particular set of my confusion bells and I instinctively reached in and picked it up. It looked like a scrap of leather, lying there amid the other items, but upon closer examination I deduced that it had once been a shoe. A size eight sneaker, if the remnants of fabric were anything to go by. I held it up in front of my face, as if the action would bring sudden reason to the item, but nothing came. I furrowed my brow, deep in thought, trying to remember anything Great Gran had ever mentioned about shoes and Mama. Nothing in the realm of sneakers came from that either.

The guys were laughing behind me, having each taken up residency on the couch. I turned to face them, still holding the scrappy thing in front of me. "How are we working this?" I asked. "Are you guys gonna tell me stories and pull out relevant items, or am I gonna ask questions about the items I discover in the box?"

"It's a chest," Lester corrected, still chuckling. "We can word this however you like."

I thought about it a moment and made my decision. Gingerly thrusting the thing up at him I semi-demanded, "I want to know what this is-slash-was and how it has anything to do with Mama."

He took it slowly, a grin forming on his face, and held it reverently in his hands. "This," he began, "Was one of your mother's shoes."

A long moment of staring on my part followed this statement. "Oooohhhh-kay then. I figured that much for myself. What I'm asking is-."

"I have the other!" Bobby exclaimed, springing from the couch and racing from the room.

Tank just looked between the door which stood ajar and Lester and shook his head. "You kept the melted shoes?" he asked incredulously. "That's a little weird." After a moment he broke out into one of his rare, all teeth gleaming, grins and admitted, "I wish I'd thought about it."

All I could manage was a small, "Melted?" before Bobby was coming back through the door with a pink plastic storage crate. He set it down a foot apart from Lester's chest and gestured for me to open it. I did so, feeling a little weird, but at the same time excited. Bobby's crate was more OCD than Lester's chest, which I suppose I should have expected, it went with their personalities. Everything in the crate was in a snap lock bag which was labelled with what seemed to be a relevant date, location and what could only be some key words about the situation.

"Food roll skip chase, right?" Bobby asked, running a finger along the neatly aligned little baggies.

Lester checked the tag I hadn't noticed hanging off the was-shoe and gave an affirmative. A moment later Bobby was dangling another scraggly looking scrap of was-shoe in front of me, grinning widely. "Shall we?" he asked the other two.

"We shall," Lester said, handing his was-shoe to Tank and picking up the photo file box. "The first thing that you need to know is that your mother was originally a lingerie buyer. When she was fired from that particular job she bribed your uncle Vinnie." We all shuddered. "into giving her a job as a skip tracer."

"Fugitive Apprehension Agent," Bobby added.

"Bounty Hunter," Tank chimed in.

"Since she had no idea how to do that job, she enlisted the help of Ricardo Carlos Manoso."

"Papa."

"The one and only." He started looking through the photos in the box as he continued his story. "They met and he began mentoring Steph. Even with his guidance, though, Steph was a bit of a..."

"Bombshell?" I guessed.

"Yup. She relied more on sheer dumb luck and 'burg gossip than the few skills she'd learnt from your Papa."

"And she had a tendency to destroy cars," Bobby said.

"And Rangemen," Tank added. They all laughed at that, so I guessed that there was a bit of a story behind that too.

"And be chased by loons," Bobby mentioned. At this they all instantly sobered and Lester got back to the was-shoe story.

"This particular day." He gestured to the was-shoes. "She wasn't even after her own skip. She'd gotten fed up with the car explosions and constant stalkers and called it quits. After getting fired from jobs at the button factory, Kan Klean and Cluck-in-a-Bucket she accepted a job here at Rangeman doing phone and paper work. All the skips that she would have normally been chasing were handed over to her side kick, Lula, the former 'ho who was hired by Vinnie." We all shuddered again. "To do the filing, but spent more time being Steph's second banana. Lula wasn't any better at the skip tracing stuff than Steph was."

"Tell the truth she was worse," Tank said in a rather disgusted tone.

"Not that any of us thought that was possible until she took over," said Bobby.

"So despite the fact that she had sworn off Bounty Hunting forever," Lester continued. "Steph agreed to help Lula with a few skips."

"Is this where the was-shoes come in?" I asked.

"Not quite," Bobby and Tank practically harmonised.

"Be patient, though, they're not far off," Tank went on after a quick glance at his comrade.

"They were after Willie Martin," Lester started up again. "He was wanted for..." He looked over at the guys who both shrugged. "Well, I'm not sure what he was wanted for, but he was apparently one pain in the ass to snag. Lula had ended up cuffed naked to his bed on one attempt. And the other left your mom covered in food." He pulled a security still from the box and handed it to me. It was of Mama standing in the elevator looking utterly dishevelled and covered in food. "Her shoes alone were coated in a mixture of cheeseburger and chocolate shake." He handed me the next picture, a close up of the shoes she'd been wearing, presumably the now was-shoes. "See, what apparently happened was, Willie didn't like the idea of going back to jail, so he launched your mom across Fennick's Deli. She landed on a table, complete with meals, which then collapsed, spilling said meals onto herself. When she came back to Rangeman she got off on the control floor, storming to her desk to retrieve a key fob." He handed me an actual photo, rather than a security still. Mama was in mid step. I could see the odd coloured liquid dripping from her hair. She looked furious as hell. "and head upstairs to the seventh floor apartment where we assume, based on the fact that she exited the apartment clean as a whistle in foodless clothes, that she showered and changed into a spare set of clothes.

"When speaking with Ella later that night we discovered that Steph had sent her underwear and shoes to the laundry to be cleaned. The underwear survived no worries, but the shoes kind of melted in the drier."

"Naturally," Bobby cut in. "We dug through the trash and retrieved the remnants of the shoes. At the time we were planning on waiting until she got really famous for her bounty hunter blunders and then selling them on e-bay, but then well, the tumour and you and they hold real sentimental value when you look at things from that perspective."

"She was a real trouper, you mom, but she knew when she was out of luck and needed to call in reinforcements," Tank said quietly.

"And she always knew just the right reinforcements to call in," Bobby put in.

"Right up until the very end," Lester agreed, chucking me under the chin.

I smiled up at him, wishing the stupid lump in my throat would just give it a rest already. They must have interpreted the look in my eye, because the next thing I knew I was in the centre of a group hug. Someone ruffled my hair, and someone squeezed my upper arm. I let out a half sob, half laugh and tried to push them away. "Guys!" I exclaimed when they resisted. MY voice was muffled even to my own ears. "I'm kind of running out of oxygen in here."

They released me and I found myself seated once more on the couch between two large, hard bodies. Tank and Bobby this time. Lester was standing behind the chest facing us. "What next?" he asked, a certain light in his eye that I could only remember seeing on very few occasions.

I thought for a moment in my thinking pose: elbows resting on knees, chin resting fists. I stared into the chest as I thought, nothing really jumped out at me. "Tell me about the first time you guys met Mama," I requested eventually.

They all exchanged a fleeting glance over my head and fell about laughing. Guffaws filled my ears, hearty and full. It wasn't the usual laughter I heard from them. It was honest, not that their laughter was usually fake, but this was... Freer.


	8. Big Monkey Wrench Colliding With My Head

_It's been a while, I know, and I have promised many times to update 'soon', but my fingers got lazy and refused to type, and my brain went on strike and refused to continue the plot line and I generally just didn't have the inclination, however, this evening, while reading through a few previous chapters to get my head back in it, I had the most magnificent brainwave ever and the end part of this chapter is the beginning result of that. Happy readings... maybe..._

Chapter 8

"So are you going to tell me why your phone and pager have been turned off all day?" Tank asked as he drove me home that afternoon.

"Does Papa know you're driving his car?" I countered, neatly avoiding the question (I hoped). We were in the midnight blue Audi TT, the only car Papa owned that was not black. It was his pride and joy, if you excluded the black Porsche Cayene, which everyone, including Tank and especially including me, was forbidden to touch. I was assuming that it had something to do with Mama since when I asked Tank about it he told me to ask Papa and when I asked Papa he got that far off look in his eyes that always appears for a second when I mention Mama.

"What Papa don't know won't hurt him," Tank replied nonchalantly. As we stopped at a red light he turned to me, a menacing look on his face. "And you're not going to tell him." His voice was low and growly, truly bone chilling.

"Tell Papa what?" I asked innocently, causing him to lose his menacing composure and break into a grin.

"Exactly." He narrowed his eyes again. "Now 'fess up."

I sat silently for a block, trying to avoid the question again. I really didn't want to get into this now and ruin the great memories of this day. IT was bad enough that I was probably going to have to go through it all with Dad. "Let's not spoil the day prematurely," I finally suggested. "I promise I'll email you all the details later when things have died down a bit. For now though, I can't believe Mama _actually_ wore that outfit! Was she aware of how much of her ass hung out of it? And everyone knows that leather makes you look trashy."

"Well, sure," Tank agreed, grinning once more. "Now they do, thanks to your mom."

"A sacrifice she was willing to make, huh?" We both chuckled at that for a moment. "But seriously, someone should have told her how unflattering it was."

"Someone did."

I stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to go on, when he didn't I resorted to prompting. "Who?"

"Julie." I waited again. "I told you that there was an entirely valid reason for her to dress like that," he reminded me. "Julie had been kidnapped by a man impersonating your was-."

"Why would someone want to impersonate Papa? To kidnap Julie?" I interjected.

"He was using Julie to get to Papa. When that didn't quite work out he started targeting your Mama, who, I might add, was doing everything in her power to help find Julie. So Steph was forced to dress up on that ridiculous get up, the stereotyped view of how a Bounty Hunter dressed thanks to T.V. It wasn't the first time she'd been kidnapped, it was the first time she met Julie though, and let me tell you, the impressionable little pre-teen was none too impressed."

"She must have really loved Papa," I muttered absently. "To offer herself up to the bad guy in order to save his daughter whom she had never met."

"She sure did," Tank replied as he pulled to the curb at Dad's place. "She'd have gone to the ends of the earth if your Papa needed it. It's a pity things never worked out with them."

I was about to ask one of the many questions running through my head when the front door suddenly crashed open and Dad stomped out onto the porch. A vein was pulsing, visible from the curb, in his temple. His fists were clenched at his sides and twitching sporadically as if he wanted to hit someone. Even as the thought passed through my mind I realised that it was probably true, and the possibility of that person being me, or even Tank, was incredibly high. Probably he wanted to punch both of us at least a little, either way, though, I was trying his patience by just sitting there, not moving. Acutely aware of the tendons popping in his neck, the grim set to his mouth and the way his jaw was continually moving from side to side as he ground his teeth, I reached into the backseat and grabbed my bag.

I paused with my hand on the door release and turned back to Tank, giving him an apologetic smile. "Talk to you later?" I asked.

"Unless there's an emergency, I'll be online until a bit after midnight. I've got paperwork to go through but I'll be there if you need me," he assured me, tugging on a random tendril of hair that had fallen over my face. "Don't let him get to you, Genny, he's not worth it." With that, he pulled me into a quick embrace and handed me the scrapbook that contained every article ever printed that had anything to do with Mama.

Tank's statement left me puzzling as I stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Papa and the Lost Boys had always told me that no matter what happened we were a family, including Dad, and that we had to always get along, if only on a superficial level. That Tank seemed to think it was okay to cast Dad aside as unimportant now confused the poo out of me. My expression as I stood on the sidewalk and waved goodbye to Tank was no doubt one of perplexity.

As I slowly turned toward the house, however, all thoughts about Tank, Papa, the Lost Boys and Mama vanished. Dad stepped to the side of the open door, in what could only be described as a barely controlled movement, and made a jerky motion toward the entrance way. At the same time Bob ambled out and stared at me with those sad eyes that had me offering up my cookies when I was three. I gradually and carefully made my way up the front steps, knowing that one wrong move could lead to a world of complications, not least of which is my possible death, and was stopped a big, hairy, orange nose as it was thrust into my crotch. I obliged his greeting by scratching his head and behind his head, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Before I could get out of range he returned the favour, dragging his tongue up my cheek. I giggled in spite of myself and he did it again, leaning further into it so I was forced to tilt back. Unfortunately the action caused me to over balance and I landed on my rump, laughing once again.

When I finally managed to get Bob off me and glanced up at Dad he was no longer there. Assuming he had gotten fed up with my antics and gone inside in a huff, I surged to my feet, grabbed Bob by the collar and headed into the House.

"Dad?" I called.

"Kitchen," Came his terse, one word reply. I thought about heading up to my room straight away, since I hadn't been given any specific indication as to where inside I was supposed to go, but banished the thought when I remembered his tense barely controlled movements on the porch. Avoiding him would just be stoking the fire at this point. So I sidled into the kitchen to find him at the sink facing out the window directly above it, his hands clenching the edge of the bench in a white knuckled grip. "Sit," he told me.

Without hesitation, I lowered myself into one of the ancient off-white kitchen chairs. Silence followed for several minutes after that and I found myself listing all the reasons I shouldn't have avoided Dad that morning.

_Being ignored pissed Dad off_

_If something had actually happened to me and he couldn't get in contact with me for an extended period of time he would have assumed it was just because I was annoyed at him and not worried._

_Once he discovered that something was wrong and that was the reason for my not answering his calls he would have caused him to be even more angry with me._

_He had been trying to make things right between us_

_I was digging myself a deeper hole to lie in and probably coming off as even more childish._

"We need to talk," he gritted out as I tuned back in. Good timing, huh?

"I figured as much," I replied, damning myself just that little bit extra with my sarcastic attitude.

"I loved you mother," Dad began. "And I was shattered when she died, but I'm only human. Sooner or later I had to move on. I wasn't going to be able to dwell in the past forever."

"I never denied that you were human, Dad. I just wish you would have told me about you dating." I twisted the edge of my t-shirt between my hands. "How long _have_ you been dating?" I asked.

The silence that met my question was off-putting, as well as nerve-wracking. I was afraid to look up from my hands not for fear of the look in his eye, but for fear that he wouldn't be looking at me at all, or indeed, even in my general direction. I continued twisting the fabric back and forth waiting for his reply.

"Don't get mad," he said slowly. That statement ensured that I would most probably be mad, and he knew it. "You remember the babysitter from when you were ten?" he asked.

I nodded my affirmation, finally looking up from my hands. "The one who hung around for hours after you got home?"

"That's her. Well I'd been dating her for about a year before she became your 'babysitter'." He _actually_ used the air quotes there.

I was shocked on a number of levels; first that he had been playing the field for that long without my knowing, either by him telling me, or me figuring it out for myself, and secondly that he had the audacity to use air quotes in an attempt to be cool and hip when everyone knows that air quotes were never cool or hip, only nerdy. You'd think that such an overload of shock would render one dumb, not this one, however, no-siree-bob. If anything it had the opposite effect on me. That's right, I started yelling. God only knows what I was yelling about, or even what language I was speaking in, I hope it was English so that he could actually understand what I was angry about. My legs were clearly incensed also, as they carried me repeatedly across the small kitchen. Obviously feeling the need to join in the rampage my arms flailed about my head randomly, but in an agitated fashion. On about my fifteenth pass I glanced up at Dad to make sure he was still paying attention. He was. His arms were crossed, and he was leaning against the bench near the sink, gazing upon me in a way that made me incredibly uncomfortable. Charcoal black eyes followed every one of my erratic actions, boring into my own light blues when I faltered in my rant and slowed to a surprised stop. I'd seen that look before, but never on my guardian. That was the look that the guys from school would get when they saw me in my sports uniform chasing after a ball. It was a look of pure longing; of lust; of want.

Suddenly, I became aware of just how close I was standing to him. Sure, I wouldn't ordinarily consider three feet away close, but under the circumstances I felt that I should be miles away. Even then I wouldn't be safe, though. He would have tracked me down. The look on his face told me as much. It was one of those determined "I want it and I want it now and there ain't nothing anyone can do to stop me" looks.

I took a stumbling step backwards but collided with a kitchen chair. I would have hit the floor if it weren't for his quick reactions, and I couldn't decide whether I was grateful for that or not. His next action confirmed my suspicion that I was not. As I gasped in surprise he lowered his head closer to mine, pulling my body tight to his. I could feel the ominous prodding from the front of his jeans and hoped, and prayed that it was a roll of quarters in his pocket. My shock increased, this time debilitating my brain so that all I could do was stand there as he kissed me.

Let me repeat that for my brain:

_Joseph Morelli, my guardian of fourteen years, the one I called Dad and was the second (or fifth) closest thing I had to a father, was kissing me. ON THE MOUTH._

When he forced his tongue into my mouth the shock gave way to a new wave of fury. I bit down hard on his tongue; so hard that I tasted blood. I gagged but released it only after he had removed his hands from my body. I spat the foul fluid into his face and made a run for the door, but he grabbed me around the waist and shoved me up against the table.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, dragging a hand over my hair a little too hard to be considered a caring gesture.

I didn't reply. I couldn't form coherent thoughts past "Must get away". My mind was clearly set to flight rather than fight, but it looked like I was going to have to do a bit of the latter in order to achieve the former. As his hands moved to the hem of my t-shirt and made contact with the skin of my hips underneath them I gave him a hard jolt to the chest. It did very little to help my situation. His mouth claimed my lips again. I screamed into his mouth, pounding my fists against his chest in outrage.

He paused momentarily, murmured, "I love you Cupcake." His hands caught me behind the knees and lifted me onto the table top and, as he fiddled with his belt with one hand, I took the opportunity to make a run for it.

I scrambled off the other side of the table and bolted out the back door, across the yard and down the alley. I didn't stop running until I was several blocks away. I jogged for another few blocks before speeding up again as my brain ran through the events that had just occurred.

I had to get away.

* * *

_Got real nasty, real fast, didn't it? Outraged? Overjoyed? Review and let me in on your thoughts. _

_Where should Genny go? Rangeman? Grandma's? Abuela's? Somewhere else?_

_Remember, it has to get worse before it gets better._


	9. Run away from home to home

_Don't be shocked or anything, but I'm updating two days in a row. This chapter's a bit shorter, but there's definitely more to come if you're good little reviewers._

Chapter 9

I slowed to a walk too about an hour later, thankful for the endurance training Papa insisted I continue, and realised that I had been followed the entire winding way to the Rangeman building. By Bob. I'd never seen him run for anything other than greasy, fried chicken in my life, and there he was a block and a half back. I waited for him by the parking garage entrance and took him around to the back entrance where we took the service elevator to the sixth floor. As we skulked up the stairs to the seventh I remembered that my key fob was in my backpack. And my backpack was in the entranceway at Dad's house. I collapsed onto the floor against a wall in the foyer while Bob had a bit of a sniff around and resigned myself to my fate. I was going to have to talk to the one of the Lost Boys to get them to unlock the door for me, which meant I was probably going to have to tell them the entire story. I really didn't want to tell them the whole story. Telling them the whole story would be worse than telling a mother her baby had just died. I didn't want to go there, but could see what other choice I had at that point in time.

Just as the resignation passed through my brain for the first time the apartment door opened and Louis stepped out. A silent, surprised moment passed between us before he asked, "What happened? I thought you were at your Dad's house for the holidays?" I gave a faint smile and shook my head slightly. "Are you alright?" My shrug didn't satisfy him, but he'd learned not to press matters when he found me 'hiding' in odd corners of the building. "Well, the door is unlocked. Mind the carpet in the living room, I've just shampooed it." Ella was the housekeeper, and Louis, her handyman husband, but sometimes when it came to the bigger jobs, such as shampooing carpet, Louis helped with the housekeeping. "That way I'm more likely to get cookies at the end of the day", he had once told me. "And if you help me, I'll share them with you." And that, my friends, is how I ended up washing the walls of the rec room when I was nine.

"I'll have Ella send up some dinner," he told me, scratching the top of Bob's head idly. "Do you want me to tell anyone you're here?"

"They probably already know. Can you let them know that I just want to be alone?" I asked.

"You can lead a horse to water..."

"Thanks Louis."

"No problem kid. Talk to Tank when you're ready," he insisted. He went moved to the stairwell door and turned back to me. "You're not in trouble are you?"

"No," I assured him firmly. "I'm not in trouble. And neither is anyone else... for now."

"Take care."

I nodded and entered the apartment, dragging Bob after me. My first instinct was to run to Papa's office and hug him until it all went away like when I got home after a particularly bad day at school. That wouldn't work today, though. Papa wasn't there and I felt dirty. Keeping a strong hold on Bob's collar I grabbed a bowl and a bottle of water from the kitchen lead him to my room via the study, rather than the living room, and closed him in my room with the bowl of water while I scoured myself in the shower.

The water was set at a temperature just beyond bearable and I'd selected the roughest loofa I owned. I think I was about three layers of skin short when I finally emerged into the steam and fumbled for the toothpaste and my toothbrush. There's nothing like the sting of toothpaste direct from the tube to the tongue to burn away the memories of the nasty things that had happened to it. The bristles of the brush scraped back and forth over every millimetre of my mouth before I rinsed and spit. I wrapped a towel around my head and body and went into Papa's bathroom to steal some mouthwash for added measure, commandeering one of his business shirts while I was in there.

When I re-entered my room Bob was lying on my bed with his head on my pillow, probably thankful for the familiar scent in the unfamiliar apartment. He lifted his head and spared me a moment's glance before going back to sleep. I slipped on some underwear, a pair of boxers and the shirt, gave Bob a quick hug and promised him some top quality food in the morning and returned to Papa's room.

I hadn't slept in Papa's bed since I was nine, and felt childish for feeling the need to now, even if Papa wasn't there to comfort me. Apart from the scared nights, a lot of special moments had been shared here as well. He allowed me to 'wake him up' every year on his birthday by jumping on him in a perfectly executed belly flop. He would pretend to be asleep when he heard me get up, even though he'd been up for hours. It was on his bed that we'd shared toke last year. I took solace in the comfort the room alone brought to me, knowing, not only that my father, who loved me, slept in this room most nights, but that at one time in the past, my own mother had slept in this room. My mother whom had died before seeing me grow up. Whose dying wish had been that the two loves of her life get along well enough to raise me as their own.

I sat cross legged in the middle of the gigantic bed and hugged Papa's pillow. I was vaguely aware that I was rocking back and forth and there were wet streaks down each of my cheeks, but I couldn't have done anything about it. At some point I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew the bed dipped and a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I was still in the middle of the bed, curled in a ball with my face buried in the pillow.

"Genny." It was Tank. "Can you wake up so we can talk?"

I sat up slowly, sore from my run across town and the abuse I had inflicted on myself with the loofa. "Tank."

"Yeah, Genny, it's me," he assured me. "I heard about your skulking entry when I got back from a job and wanted to make sure everything is alright. Louis seemed a little worried."

The horrible events flashed across my mind and I failed to stifle the sob it caused. As the tears started again I flung my arms around his neck and hugged him like my life depended on it. At the time I was willing to bet any money that it did. There was no hesitation in his return of the hug and he didn't let me go until almost half an hour later when I had completely calmed down. By that time I was situated across his lap like a little kid as he sat cross legged in the middle of the bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, rather than ask me for details he sensed I was not ready to talk about.

"I'm not hurt," I told him.

"Physically. But what about mentally? Emotionally? How are you in those respects?" His large hand was rubbing soothing circles on my back. When I didn't answer straight away he said, "I'm not going to press you for what happened, but I need to know that you're all right. In every sense of the word."

"I've had better days," I admitted.

"Do you _want_ to talk about it?" he enquired, on the off chance that he had interpreted my body language wrong.

"Not right at the moment." I ran a hand through my frizzed out hair and sighed at how out of control it felt. "What time is it?"

"It's oh-two-hundred," he informed me. "I noticed the tray of untouched food in the kitchen from Ella. Are you hungry?"

I nodded. "Do you know where the nearest cake is?"

A chuckle escaped him as he shuffled to the edge of the bed with me still in his arms. "I don't think any of the bakeries are open at this hour, but I happen to know that there is an emergency birthday cake kit in the bottom draw of the file cabinet in Papa's office. It's half refrigerated. We could make that up and eat it while it's still warm with the pint of Ben and Jerry's I have in my freezer. How does that sound?"

"Why does Papa have an emergency birthday cake kit in his office?" I asked. It seemed strange to me. And who ever heard of a half refrigerated draw in a file cabinet? I really needed to talk to Papa when he got home.

"I'll tell you the reason while we make the cake," Tank assured me at the very moment my stomach growled. "Something tells me it's best to get it ready for consumption as quickly as possible." He grinned and set me on my feet and I followed him into Papa's office and to the file cabinet in the corner next to the desk.

* * *

_Will she tell Tank over cake and ice-cream? Will Joe ambush the building in the morning? Will Genny even be there in the morning? Will she run away? How will Genny react to the story behind the cake?_

_Review and tell me what you think_


	10. Flee to the Fort

_Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. Hope you approve of this one._

Chapter 10

Tank took a key from the back of a framed picture of Mama and inserted it in the lock on the draw. Before opening it, he replaced the key and gave me a brief hug. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to spill the beans on this," he said to me. As the drawer slowly opened I clenched my fists at my side in apprehension. Every new piece of information I learned about Mama brought me closer to her in spirit.

I helped him bring all the ingredients to the kitchen and picked up the flour to start mixing but realised there was no recipe. I mentioned as much to Tank and all he did was tell me to sit. At the command I made a resolve never to command Bob like that ever again. It was so degrading. No wonder dogs bark after executing a command, it's their way of talking back for sure.

"So," I prompted as he measured out the dry ingredients.

"So, the reason for the emergency birthday cake kit in the bottom of Ranger's file cabinet," he expanded. "Is your mother, as I've already mentioned."

"Yes," I agreed. "So I would like to know how my mother is the reason Papa has the ingredients of cake in his office."

He continued to mix ingredients for a few moments, adding the eggs and milk. I watched, oddly fascinated by his lack of need for a recipe or instructions of any kind. Then again, he could be doing everything absolutely wrong and I wouldn't be any the wiser. Sure, I'd helped Ella in the kitchen a few times, but I hadn't paid too much attention to exactly what she was doing. It just seemed a little weird that Tank was competent at something that did not involve war, fighting, tracking, hand-to-hand combat, orienteering, or listening. For as long as I could remember Ella had been the one who cooked most meals. For all of them. I think the most I'd ever seen any of the men 'whip up' would be a grilled cheese sandwich and half of the time they burnt that. True horrors from real men.

"Just to be sure," I added, "This cake is going to be edible, right?"

Tank laughed at extended one hand to ruffle my hair, but I flinched away involuntarily. Immediately, he retracted the hand and returned to mixing without a word as I stared at my hands, ashamed of my reaction. This was Tank. Tank had never done ANYTHING to harm me EVER. _Neither had Dad, _my defiant mind replied. That put an end to my rationalisations quick smart. _Nobody is as they seem_, Defiant continued, _it's all just an act._ I looked up from my hands, folded in my lap, at Tank to find him pouring the mixture he had made into a cake tin. Where he pulled that from I'm not sure, I was a little preoccupied.

I studied him for several moments. Taking in his carefully schooled expression and subtle aversion of eye contact. _Guilty, _Defiant told me. Get bent, I replied mentally.

"Pardon?" Tank asked, finally looking up from what he was doing. Apparently not so mentally...

"Never mind."

"Are you sure?"

A sound from another part of the otherwise silent apartment startled me and I quickly jumped off the stool I had sunk into earlier. Tank was around in front of me in the blink of an eye and we both listened intently for a few moments. The sound came again. It was an odd sort of... whimper... BOB! I'd totally forgotten about him. He was closed in my bedroom and probably run out of water by now. He probably needed a pit stop too. That wouldn't be a pretty present for Ella; of course I wouldn't leave it for Ella to clean, I'd clean it up myself as best I could and ask for her advice later.

Quickly, I skirted Tank and hurried toward my room. I was halfway down the hall and the whimpering had progressed to door scratching when I suddenly felt an arm around my waist, restraining me. Against my better judgement, I screamed. Somewhere in my whacked out brain I _knew_ it was Tank, but my body was having none of it. I continued screaming even after he had abruptly let go out of shock. When finally I gather enough common sense to close my mouth and shut the sound off I realised that Bob was barking frantically from my room and Tank was standing at the end of the hallway, which was as far away from me as he could get, with his hands in full view and a panic stricken look on his face. _Shit._ This time the voice in my head was on exactly the same page as me.

Without a word, I turned and half stumbled half ran the long way to my room, hoping, for the sake of Louis' hard work, that he did not take the short cut through the living room. When I reached my door I quickly opened it and grabbed the dog's collar in one swift movement before seizing my jacket and shoving my feet into the first pair of footwear I came across. Ugg boots. Papa had brought them back from Australia for me after one of his more relaxed missions.

Having jostled my body into the articles I then did an about face and went back the way I came. I ran into Tank just outside of my door but quickly changed directions to sidle around him. He didn't try to stop me; probably afraid of my reaction if he tried to touch me. Can't say I blame him for that one. As I hastened back down the hall I mumbled a barely audible, "Sorry."

By the door I snatched up the spare key fob without stopping and was down a flight and a half of stairs by the time I heard the door open and close again on the seventh floor.

"Gen!" Tank called. "Gen, where are you going?" This was followed by some rapid commands, presumably yelled into his cell phone as he made contact with the comm. room. "Come one Gen! It's the middle of the night! Where are you going to go? I WANT ALL EXITS SEALED! You know there's no hope of you getting out if we don't want you to. YES ALL OF THEM! Gen PLEASE!"

I'd made it to the third floor landing and Bob was slowing me down dramatically. He was too old for this kind of activity. I released his collar and speed up, jumping the rail as I neared the next landing to save time. Several doors crashed open and I saw men rushing onto the landings below me. I assumed that the same happened above as well. I didn't stop to check though, just kept running and jumping.

"Don't touch her," I heard Tank shouting as one of the men made to move from his landing in pursuit of me. "She can't make it out of the building. She'll stop eventually. Just leave her be. Return to your stations."

It was getting harder to keep going, the soreness from my earlier dash, combined with the jerk of each step I took down the stairs, every jolt as I landed on the next flight, the shortness of breath from the exertion and the sobs that I only now realised I was emitting, caused me to reduce speed significantly as I reached the last flight. I was at basement level now. On the other side of the final door I found the large, cement room fill with the odds and ends of the business. Boxes stacked in one corner, filled with I'm-not-sure-what. A few broken down industrial vacuum cleaners and other super cleaning devices, like the steam cleaner I had accidentally blown up years ago were neatly lined up next to the boxes. The old boiler was hidden in there somewhere, but I personally had never come across it. There was a myriad of other items that I couldn't either identify or name filled the rest of the space in a maze of rows covered with white sheets. Needless to say, when I was little I would never come down here alone, both because I wasn't allowed to and because I was too scared out of my wits by the towering white shapes. Now, however, I knew that there was nothing down here to harm me, and had taken, on occasion, to hiding down here when I got stressed or overly annoyed.

Even though I knew it would be the first place Tank searched when he caught up, I went straight to the Fort. The Fort was a hollow in the middle of the miscellaneous stacked goods that had, for some reason which is beyond my skills of comprehension (as most things seemed to be this week), occurred naturally over the years; at least that's the way it seemed. On my virgin voyage into the spooky space I had discovered a box labelled _Butterscotch Krimpet_ which immediately struck me as odd, given that the Lost Boys were not allowed sweets on the premises (with the exception of those made by Ella). I studied the box for a few minutes before noticing that it was not touching the items on either side of it, nor did it make contact with the surfboard (I know, that shocked me a little at first too. None of the Lost Boys seemed the surfing type) which bridged from stack of chairs on the left of the Krimpet box to the rusty old file cabinet on the right. There was only an inch or so of air space surrounding the box, not enough to tip you off if you were hastily looking for a hiding spot and weren't originally aware of it, or looking from a distance, but it was enough. I carefully slid the box out to reveal a small tunnel. Further exploration, on hands and knees of course, revealed the Fort at the end.

The oddest thing about the Fort was that it came fully equipped with a gym mat come make shift bed, pillow and all, lighting and a pile of well worn books. I was taken aback at first, and a little afraid that I was intruding on something I shouldn't have been intruding on, but then I figured that the amount of dust layering everything was a good indication that it hadn't been used in a good long while and so with no ore hesitation, I cleaned it up, added a few personal touches to the collection of books and the decorations and salvaged a leaky beanbag with a bit of a blood stain on it that I found in one of the other piles of stuff.

Over the course of the next summer vacation, during which Dad was working undercover and was unable to take me in, I worked with Tank, who had discovered my hiding place one day when I hadn't replaced the Krimpet box properly, to resurrect an old chunky laptop I found in the cupboard that made up part of one of the walls. Only three people knew of the Fort, as far as I was aware. Tank, as I indicated earlier. Ella, because Tank had once requested that she take a plate of cookies down to me while I was avoiding Papa. And Meli. In fact, Meli ended up using the Fort when she ran away from home two years ago.

It was my refuge in the building. The only place I could go that no one would find me. Well, almost no one.

!!!

A greater amount of time thank I would have though passed before I heard the box shift again. The sounds of a large black man army crawling through a space too small for him followed and I backed myself into the corner on the mattress, hugging my legs to my chest. When he emerged into the space he sat back on his heels and breathed a sigh of slight relief.

"That tunnel's getting smaller," he announced. "There's barely enough room to move my legs, I had to mostly drag myself through."

We sat in silence for a while after his statement. Tank waiting patiently for me to say something while keeping his distance in case I freaked out again. Me trying to calm myself and convince Defiant that Tank still wasn't a threat and the fact that he sat right in front of the only exit meant nothing, that if she wanted out he would let her pass.

"I created a back exit a couple of years ago," he informed me as if he had been listening in on my thoughts. "It's through the back panel of the cupboard. It should swing out if you push on it."

I nodded my understanding and rested my chin on my knees, wiping away a few rogue tears at the same time.

I'm sorry," I mumbled eventually.

"Magenta, there is nothing for you to be sorry for. Your reaction just now was classic flight behaviour, and, contrary to popular belief, there is nothing wrong with having a strong flight instinct. It's helped even the bravest and most well trained in the business out of situations beyond their control."

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" I wailed and hit my legs hard.

"Gen, there is nothing wrong with you. This is killing me. Can I come over there and hug you?" He made no move to close the distance, simply sat there awaiting my reply.

It took me a moment to reply affirmatively, and another moment for him to cautiously cross the small space. I tensed as he pulled me into his arms, but willed myself to relax as Tank took my hand into his massive paw-like one and began rubbing firm, soothing circles in my palm. For a few minutes I cried harder with my face buried in the front of his shirt before it began to ease off and I felt me enough to lift my head and look at the man comforting me.

I would have given anything for it to have been Papa, but I knew there was no way we could possible contact him for at least another week.

_REVIEW! Please. Thankyou._


	11. Animaniacs Distractionization

_It's about two in the morning here, but, while listening to the Animaniacs between eleven and twelve I suddenly had a brain wave, and, deleting what I had had already for this chapter, I, for the sixth or seventh time in the past couple of days, started it again, this time with a clear idea in my mind as to exactly how to put it. So, I am sorry for the delay, but here it, finally, is. Thanks to all those who reviewed chapter ten._

Chapter 11

I've found that when things seem to be getting overwhelming it's best to distract yourself. For some people, self distraction is as simple as reading a book. Self distraction for me, however, is a whole different aquarium of sea monkeys; it's more involved. For instance, on this particular morning, as I was seated in the passenger seat Ella's red Ford Fiesta on my way to stay with Abuela and Abuelo for the remainder of the school holidays or Papa returned from his mission, which ever occurred first, I found myself singing _Yakko's World Song _from Animaniacs, while tapping out the same body ostinato over and over and over..._ right hand to right leg, left hand to left leg, right hand click, left hand click, clap, both hands to corresponding legs, right hand to left shoulder, left hand to right shoulder, left hand to left leg, right hand to right leg, right hand click, left hand click, clap, both hands to corresponding legs, right hand to left shoulder, left hand to right shoulder, left hand to left leg, right and to right leg, right click... etc._ It wasn't that I didn't love Papa's parents; in fact it was the exact opposite, I loved them a whole heap. I just didn't like the idea of running from my problems, and despite what Tank insisted, I was running... okay, driving... um... technically, being driven, but you get what I mean. My problems were in Trenton; Dad's house specifically. I was headed to Newark.

When I was five and afraid to walk into my bedroom at night for fear of the bogeyman, whose stories had been told to me by Lester, would jump out from behind the door, or reach out from under my bed as I neared it, and eat me, maul me, attack me, mutilate me and so on, Papa had told me that the only way to conquer my fears was to face them head on. That night, armed with the hockey stick Bobby had given me and my Dora the Explorer flashlight, a helmet secured tightly over my head and a full set of protective pads covering my limbs, plus Papa's Kevlar vest, I ventured into my room to conquer my first fear. Papa was right behind me with the video camera documenting the entire ordeal. I checked behind the door, loudly rattling the hockey stick against the wall just in case he was hiding within it. I checked under my bed, shining the flashlight into the space from three feet away, which I figured was a big enough distance that, if the bogeyman happened to be under there he couldn't reach me. Finally, I checked the closet, pulling all the clothes out of the way so that there was nowhere for him to hide. I then climbed into bed, took off my protective gear, handing each item to Papa as I did so, and tucked the hockey stick under my pillow. Just in case.

Then next night I did it all again, and again the night after that. Three nights of fruitless bogeyman checks convinced me that he was not in my room. Papa assured me that he always checked the rest of the house as well.

Unfortunately, while I wished for them dearly now, the hockey stick now resided in one of the basement boxes along with the helmet, and pads, the flashlight is in a landfill somewhere after Hal accidentally stood on it about six months after the defeat of the bogeyman, and Papa's Kevlar vest was with him on his mission, wherever that was. I know that the items would offer no use to me at all in this particular situation, but the fact was, thanks to that early encounter, they were the objects I had come to associate most with fear conquering.

I wasn't sure I wanted to face this fear head on. To face this fear head on would require a confrontation with Dad, and at the moment I wasn't sure I'd be able to handle that, even if it was perfectly safe. I'm sure it would be. Knowing Tank, and all the other Lost Boys, they wouldn't let me go in alone. Or at least they wouldn't let me go in without being wired for sound and, if the mood struck them, visuals. It was nice to know that there was always someone at my back.

Speaking of at my back, Bob was currently drooling on the plastic sheet Ella had draped over the back seat.

He had been rather distressed when Tank and I finally emerged from the Fort early Wednesday afternoon and made it to Ella and Louis's apartment. By this stage I hadn't eaten since lunch time the day before and was devastatingly starving. Ella took one look at me when she opened the door, pulled me into a bone crushing hug (if you think being hugged by the Lost Boys was bruising, you haven't been hugged by Ella while she's worried about you), and sat me down at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. A plate of cookies materialised on the counter before me followed by a tall glass of cold milk (one of those mysterious things that just seemed to happen in Ella's kitchen) and I was instructed to eat. While I obeyed her orders she set about whipping up a cake.

Bob was being restrained by both Louis and Tank over in the living room. He seemed to have the upper hand for a while, but Tank did some weird pressure point thing and he immediately went limp with a slight whimper.

After the plate of cookies, a steak sandwich and a large slice of Ella's special all chocolate with extra chocolate cake I assured Bob that I was alright. We, Ella, Tank, Louis and I, decided it was best that he go back to Dad's house so that we weren't accused of dog napping, but after several failed attempts Tank gave in and let the big furry animal stay. Ella, Tank and Louis also decided that it would be a good idea for me to get away for a while. I was completely opposed to the idea, given Papa's "Confront your fears" pep talk, however, being that I was one measly little teenager and they were three adults that, in the event of an emergency, I was to entrust my life in, my opinion was over ruled.

So here I was, singing all the countries of the world to the tune of one of those annoyingly stick-in-the-mind-y songs that never really leave you while tapping out that body ostinato. (..._right hand to right leg, left hand to left leg, right hand click, left hand click, clap, both hands to corresponding legs, right hand to left shoulder, left hand to right shoulder, left hand to left leg, right hand to right leg, right hand click...)._ Be aware that I was not singing in my head. No. The singing I was doing was loud and could probably be heard in the car next to us. Ella, the good sport, was putting up with the racket; my voice ain't that crash hot. She even sang along with me for a while as we sat in the early evening traffic.

We arrived at Abuela's house bang on six o'clock and were ushered straight to the table without so much as howdy do. Tank had called to ask if I could stay directly after my cake. Ella was supposed to just be dropping me off, but Abuela gave her no option of leaving until after desert. She insisted that Papa didn't give her enough time off and that it was unhealthy to eat alone or after the hour of six in the evening, and, while she had no medical facts or evidence to back up her statements, I found myself thoroughly persuaded.

I was seated between Ella and Abuela at the table, with Abuelo on Ella's left and Tío Eloy across from me. Tío Eloy was Papa's only brother, and the only one of his siblings that wasn't married. He spent half of his time watching at Abuela's house sitting with Abuelo on the back porch or in the living room discussing guy stuff and how the world was gradually turning against them, personally I didn't see the appeal in either of those topics, but it kept them out of mischief, as Abuela would say when I voiced my judgment. The other half of Tío Eloy's time was spent tending the bar he owned. Occasionally I would hear Abuela muttering to herself about his inability to land a decent girl, often involving the phrase 'that wretched bar', but it was all out of love.

After dinner, Abuela helped me carry my bags inside (one full of clothes, and another that held various toiletry items, a few reading books, the half of my CD collection that I had left at Papa's and a menagerie of other things that I felt I couldn't live without; one of Papa's shirts, for instance) and she and Ella made sure I was settled in my room before Ella left to head home and Abuela left me to get ready for bed. I changed and climbed in, but it wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that I finally managed to drift off. To keep myself from thinking about the incident in the meantime, I sang Wakko's State capitals song in my head and tried to sing the entire song, including each individual word, backwards.

_A/N:The body ostinato isn't as hard as I imagine it seems, given the way I've written it, when you're just doing the ostinato on it's own, however, trying to maintain the pattern while singing ANYTHING is a challenge... for me at least. If you can do it, yippee for you._

_Thank you for reading my semi-mindless dribble. Now if you would please press the little butting under this message and leave me a review it would be greatly appreciated. I may even reply._


	12. Normalisation

_Another day, another inspiration. Sorry if you're not really finding much out at the moment, but I assure, this is all necessary, and it's a lot more interesting than the stuff I drafted the first couple of times._

Chapter 12

A light tap on the door to the room was all it took to arouse me from my slumber early the next morning. At first I thought I'd simply woken up it was so soft and brief, but after a few moments it was repeated and there was no doubt in my mind who it was. I only knew of two people in the entire world who knocked like that, and since one of them was currently somewhere off the coast of nowhere, it had to be Abuelo. The tap came again as I rolled over to check the time. 6.45 am flashed mockingly back at me. So much for sleep. Groaning, I flopped onto my back and willed the world to disappear. Another tap sounded and I knew, like I'd been captured by the Borg, that resistence was futile. I threw back the covers and slowly sat up, flinching when, as I swung my feet over the side of the bed, I made contact with a furry something that turned out to be Bob. He raised his big orange head and stared at me with bleary dog eyes and I knew in that instant that his thoughts were on the same wave length as mine; _Need more sleep. _

Sympathetic gazes were exchanged and I gave him a brief hug before standing and stuffing myself into my roe as I padded across the room to the door. "Mmm?" I mmm-ed as I swung it open, leaning heavily on the frame in my self-inflicted sleep-deprived state.

"Breakfast is on the table, if you like your bacon hot I suggest you get down there quick smart."

My eyes, which had drooped into a mostly closed position somewhere between opening the door and murmuring 'mmm?', sprang open and locked on to the figure in the hall. The vision agreed whole heartedly with the hearing, but the fingertips of my right hand required their own confirmation, it appeared, as they extended to touch his still dirt smudge face. He smiled the smile that was reserved only for me and placed his hand over my own on his cheek. Asured that it was really him, I threw my arms my arms around his waist to hug him tightly. A slight whimper made me draw back and look up into his face again. Still smiling, no sign of any pain having ever crossed his face so I hugged him close again, breathing in his...

I awoke coughing and spluttering with a heavy weight on my chest and stray dog hairs creeping into my nose and mouth. Bob licked my face in apology and removed his big body from on top of mine. I realised my arms were around him and guessed that it must have been him I'd squeezed.

"Sorry boy," I murmured softly, picking hairs from my mouth and nose. "I was dreaming I guess. You know how it is." Not surprisingly, he did not reply. I think I might have been a bit concerned if he had. "I'll sneak you a cookie later, if I can find one, to make it up to you."

I was about to roll over and go back to sleep when there was a soft tap on the door. The odd sense of de ja vu that washed over me sent a chill down my spine and I found myself rolling over to check the time. 6.45 am. What a surprise.

"Papa?" I called uncertainly, sitting up and grabbing my robe. As I crossed the room I wrapped it around myself and secured the belt tie.

"No, querida, it's Abuelo. Breakfast is ready if you'd like to come and eat."

The similarities between my dream and what was actually happening were disconcerting, but the fact was, it was only a dream. Wasn't it? I hesitated a moment before opening the door, but the hall was already empty.

Shrugging off the unwarranted feeling of unease that had threatened to take hold a moment ago, I looked down at myself and tried to remember whether Abuela allowed pyjamas at the breakfast table. It had been a while since I'd stayed the night here, so the particular protocols of the household were a little fuzzy. To play it safe I quickly pulled off the boxers and button down I wore and climbed into a pair of cut off jeans and an appropriate t-shirt for grandparents to see their granddaughter in; a purple and pink striped polo with silver flowers printed up one side.

I was glad of my decision to dress when I arrived in the kitchen to find both Abuela and Abuelo fully dressed and sitting at the table. Also there was Tío Eloy. _Does he not have a hoe to go to?_ I thought a tad over-scornfully.

"Morning," he greeted cheerfully, passing me the orange juice. "Sleep well?"

I sat down and poured a glass. "Had better. Do you happen to now if there's a spare sleep mask lying about that I can use?"

"Third shelf of the hall cupboard behind the spare toothbrushes," Abuela told me matter of factly while Tío Eloy stared blankly.

Abuelo, who was seemingly absorbed in his paper, muttered, "Darkness," and Tío Eloy's face immediately morphed into a dawning expression. A soft "Oh!" escaped him and I picked up my cutlery and began to eat in order to avoid looking at him.

!!!

_Dear Papa,_

_Tank has probably emailed you with a lot more details than this, but I felt I should tell you myself that I'm staying with Abuela. There was an incident with Dad that I don't really want to go into in an email, just know that I was not hurt and I'm only a bit jumpy as a result. I feel a bit weird typing this because the details of the actual even are kinda fuzzy to me, like, I knew clearly in my mind what was happening at the time, but as the minutes pass I'm not as sure. I'm starting to doubt it even happened, is that normal in my situation? I know I haven't given you any details to base an answer off, but like I said, I told Tank everything I could remember of the event and I'm assuming that he's emailed you about it, it's the obvious thing to do, right? I know Lester would have reported immediately no matter what. Oh well, if you don't have the details, don't worry; I'm fine, but if you do, please email me and let e know that I'm not going out of my mind._

_What I would give to be able to talk to Dad about it. To get his side of the story. Then maybe I'd be able to piece together exactly what happened. Before you say it, my cell phone was left at Dad's when I made a hasty exit and I'm pretty sure Abuela has hidden all the phones here._

_I'm getting along as best as I can without you,_

_Genny._

I sat back and clicked the send button, waiting, however foolishly, for a reply. There was a good chance that he wasn't going to see his inbox until he got home, at which point he'd probably go completely postal on somebody's ass. At this stage it was hard to tell who it would be. Fingers crossed it wasn't me.

"Magenta?"

I snapped my head up from staring at the little empty inbox symbol to see who was standing in the doorway. Despite knowing both consciously and subconsciously that I was in Abuelo's little used study in his and Abuela's home in Newark, for a second I was expecting it to be one of the Lost Boys coming to check on me. Instead I was faced with Tío Eloy and Tía Cecelia. Eloy was in the forground and had obviously been the one to have spoken, given my initial thoughts of a Rangeman employee.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Wanna come listen to kids scream through an entire movie they begged to see in the first place but then don't even pay attention to?" Tío Eloy enquired.

Tía Cecelia back handed her brother in the chest before coming over and perching on the edge of the desk. "Tank told me what happen," she told me, fiddling with the stapler on the desk. "I thought you might want to come see a movie with us, instil some sort of normality, ya know?"

"I'm not sure I'd be any good for company at the moment."

"Nonsense," Tío Eloy put it. "You'll be no worse than them. It'll be fine."

"And the kids are dying to spend time with you. They don't mind a surly attitude, isn't that right Eloy?"

"For that last time Cecelia, the little one with the shifty eyes _deliberately _spilt her drink on my crotch."

Cecelia rolled her eyes and commented, "I suppose that the reason for your unfortunate size problem as well is it?" She laughed and it was so infection that I found myself joining in.

"I don't have a size issue," he muttered turning toward the hall. "I'll be in the kitchen shielding my equipment from the little shifty eyed one."

"Try rubber pants," I called at his retreating back, causing both our laughter to double in intensity.

"He always did have a bladder problem," she managed to giggle out after a few moments. "Seriously. Once he stood in the middle of the dairy section at the supermarket and wet himself. Ricardo and I stood laughing at him for ages while he bawled his eyes out." She sobered up then. "We weren't allowed dessert that night."

I grinned. "Surely it was worth it though."

Her answering grin was wider than wide.

_Sorry Bowlingforshrimp, no Ranger yet. Soon. I promise. Review anyway. All of you._


	13. A Repeat Performance

_Finally, inspiration has hit! You're probably gonna hate me for a bit, but please stay with me, it's not as bad as it may seem. _

Chapter 13

By the time I collapsed on the living room couch at five-thirty that evening I was utterly exhausted, but also extremely thankful for _Visitor's Privilege._ This rule was devised by Tía Cecelia in regards to her van. It states, in no uncertain terms (mainly because she screamed it the first time) that the visitor gets to sit in the front passenger seat. This not only terminates any and all arguments regarding seating and protects the said visitor (in this case, me) from the over enthusiastic conversations and disputes in the back seat. This rule is also the reason Tío Eloy was forced to sit in the back seat with the "youngsters" (Visitor's Privilege trumps Age Privilege).

Tía Tamerin's girls, Sarra and Maria, whom Cecelia was looking after for the day while Tamerin and Marcus spent time alone to celebrate their anniversary, were eight and nine respectively and seated on either side of Tío Eloy. Then there were Cecelia's two male trouble makers behind them. It always amazed me the amount of havoc they could wreak if left alone for even one minute. Josiah, at eleven, was clearly the brains of the operations. I guarantee that in a few years time Josiah will be making a daring fashion statement in hand knitted, alpaca wool, sweater vests and pocket protectors; if not physically then at least in the personality sense, and telling us all why the average cutting board is home to more germs than the household toilet. His persona just screamed nerd-geek, especially when he pulled a calculator from the back pocket of his jeans and started calculating the velocity needed in order to knock over the Chocolate Factory game in the lobby of the Cinema. At least that's what I assumed he was doing, given the careful scrutiny Kaleb (thirteen) was sparing it. He didn't get too far before Lydia (twelve) snatched it away from him and handed it to Tía Cecelia.

Five year old Clara was about the only one I could stand for any length of time. She was the quiet one. Okay, so that was a bit of an understatement; she was currently the _silent_ one. She had decided to become mute three months ago and hadn't spoken a word since. This followed her father, Tío Marco, reading her Helen Keller, so I supposed she was testing things out to see how it worked.

"You look pooped," said a familiar voice to my left. I couldn't spare the energy to look over, grunt acknowledgement or anything else. "Big day?"

"The girls wore her out," Cecelia explained falling into the armchair nearby. "To say they were excited to see her would be an understatement."

"Mind if I steal her away for a moment or three? I need to speak to her in private."

Cecelia giggled and replied, "If you can get her to move you can take her anywhere you want, Tank."

Suddenly, I was in the air, wrapped in strong, muscled arms, and moving toward the glass sliding doors that lead to the patio. I surprised myself by staying calm, despite my initial shock. Once outside, Tank sat me on the table, holding onto my shoulders to make sure I didn't fall backwards in my exhaustion. What happened next completely boggled my mind beyond proper function. He lowered his hand to my breast and gave it a squeeze before claiming my mouth. All I could do, despite my inert need to scream and slap him as hard as I could, was stare open mouthed at him. He simply took a step back and sat down, keeping one hand on my knee as he did so.

"I thought you were on my side," I finally managed to hoarsely whisper. He looked confused and moved to take my hand, but I jumped away, making my exit, for the second time that week, across the table. I stood for a moment, indecisive as to where to go, realising that I was in Newark and that I knew next to no one here, before dashing back through the sliding door and all the way up to the room I had been occupying.

Eloy's POV

Cecelia and I watched from the living room as Tank carried the poor girl out onto the patio and sat her on the table, holding her shoulders to steady her. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and kissed her on the cheek before sitting down with his hand on her knee. He must have given her some bad news, as if she needed any more, because she sat there, unmoving, for several with her mouth hanging agape. She said something to him and he reached out his hand for hers, but she climbed over the table and raced back through the doors and up to her room. Tank sat there for a few minutes more before rising and slowly making his way back inside.

"Bad news?" Cecelia asked.

He stood for a moment blinking his confusion and staring at the stairs. "I didn't even get to tell her."

"Are you sure?" I cut in. "She seemed really hurt. We figured you'd told her something terrible."

He shook his head and plonked down in the closest armchair. "I was going to tell her that Ranger's on a plane home right now and should be here in a few hours, but I didn't get to."

"Why not?" Cecelia insisted.

"She said..." His brow furrowed for a moment. "Her exact words were 'I thought you were on my side' and then she just... ran."

"I'll go talk to her," she said, standing to leave the room. Beats me what she thought she could achieve.

"No," Tank interrupted, "I should deal with this myself. Besides, she's used to men. She's always been more comfortable in the company of men, it comes from being constantly surrounded by them."

"But what about what happened with Morelli?" my darling sister countered. "Don't you think that would have compromised by that?"

"You've got a point, but it doesn't change the fact that she barely knows you."

"Tank, that is my niece in there, whether she's related by blood or not, and I'll be damned if you're gonna go barging in there after making her upset."

I made my decision at that point and silently slipped from the room without notice. As I approached her door upstairs I could hear soft sobs. It made me feel incredibly uncomfortable to know that she was crying and that I was about to willingly talk to her about it, but I had to. I owed it to my brother to look after his only love's daughter. _His_ daughter. As I knocked softly on the door I cringed at how loud it was compared to how soft my father would always knock. I was so absorbed in the relative loudness that I almost missed her muffled reply.

"Go away, Tank."

"It's Tío Eloy," I called. "I promise I'm alone, can I come in?"

There was no reply, but I heard her cross the room then the door was opened. She stuck her head out to make sure I was telling the truth about my alone-ness and let me in. The big orange dog was lying on the bed with a slightly wet patch of fur on his shoulder, where, I assume, Magenta had been crying. It growled low at me for a moment before Magenta laid a hand on his head and sat beside him, cross-legged on the bed.

"What just happened?" I asked her. If Mama, Cecelia or Tamerin had been here they would have scoffed at my directness, but it always worked with Cecelia's boys, so I thought, why not utilise it here.

"You probably saw the whole thing anyway, why do you want me to tell you? Do you plan on getting off on the idea that I was molested before you very eyes?" Another growl from the dog.

"Molested?" I enquired, slightly confused. "What do you mean?"

"You really do want me to describe the whole thing to you don't you?" Anger was as distinct in her voice as the tears that were once again threatening to fall.

"You think touched you inappropriately?" I asked, unsure.

"What did you think the boob squeeze was? You think I asked him to do that? What about the invasion of my mouth with his tongue?"

_Holy fuck._ "Tank didn't touch your..." I struggled with the word, even knowing it was a simple piece of anatomy. "Breast."

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_You know the drill. Press the button and leave me a nice little review. Just remember that things will be explained in the coming chapter/s_


	14. The Bat Signal's Been Sighted

_You're all in luck, I completed another chapter just a few hours after posting the last and if all goes well... well, I'm not gonna make any promises because I have Carols to sing at and rooms to clean. Anyway, enjoy._

Chapter 14

It was a while later that Magenta fell asleep and I could finally leave her without feeling guilty. I pulled the crocheted blanket up to her chin and pet Bob the dog on the head before making my way downstairs to the others. I heard them from the bottom of the stairs, despite that they were obviously trying to keep their voices down.

"This is all Morelli's fault!" Cecelia was exclaiming.

"He's denying everything and so long as we have no evidence there's not a thing we can legally do about it."

"So do something illegal about it, Tank! It's not like it'd be the first time."

"He didn't do it," I interrupted as I stepped into the room.

Four shocked faces turned to me with jaws swinging. "What?"

"Morelli didn't touch Magenta in any inappropriate way. I know this as certainly as I know that you didn't touch her in any inappropriate way."

At that exact moment the front door crashed open and my dear brother's voice could be heard clearly through the entire house despite his soft words. "I don't care who did or did not touch my daughter or where, I want a full and detailed report right now."

In the same instant Tank was standing in front of him spilling every skerrick of information he had on the situation. Her arrival at the Rangeman building, the freak out, the heart to heart they had in the basement of all places, the decision to bring her here, the confrontation with Morelli that same day, his denial and finally the incident on the patio. Cecelia was next to him and gave her observations from the patio incident and Mama and Papa both put in their two cents worth regarding Magenta's overall behaviour since she arrived. After all this he turned to me only for a moment and turned to the stairs without asking for my input. I was a little cut at this, but then, he had always disregarded my opinion, so why I expected him to pay attention to me now I had no idea, possibly because I actually had important information to give him this time.

He was half way up the stairs before I managed to find my voice.

"Ric, wait," I called. "I just came down from a long chat with her, she's asleep."

"I need to see for myself that she's not physically injured," he practically growled at me and turned back toward the upper level.

"That's not all. She thinks Tank... molested her on the patio, that's what she said what she did, and that's why she pulled back when he tried to grab her hand. It's only logical solution since we know that this did not happen is that it did not happen with Morelli either."

Ric tensed visibly and returned to the bottom of the steps. "How do you know?"

"I asked her to describe exactly what happened with Tank and it in no way matched what both Cecelia and I saw through the door way." He said nothing, just stood there staring at me with the muscle in his jaw working. "Brother, I know that your first reaction is always to not believe a word I say, especially after the ink bomb incident, you have to understand that I'm telling the truth here. If you go and talk to Magenta she'll tell you the same story she told me and Cecelia can back up what I saw, she's already told you exactly what happened. You have to believe me this one time, Ric. I would never hurt that child."

"Why would she say it happened if it didn't?" he countered. "I've known Magenta for fourteen years and she has never once lied to me."

"She's never lied to any of us," Tank told him. "I think Eloy's right, we need to look into this a bit more."

"How?" he demanded.

"Well she didn't react that way when you l were with her at Rangeman," I suggested, "What's different today?"

We all looked to Tank, waiting, patiently or impatiently depending on who we're talking about, for his reply. He looked down at his clothes, as if the answer would be written there, or somehow miraculously come to him through staring at them. Finally he looked up and stared Ric directly in the eyes as if daring him to tell him he's lying. "I haven't done anything drastically different. I'm wearing my uniform just the same as when I discovered her on the seventh floor, I don't think Ella's changed laundry detergent." He grew silent again and we all stared at him waiting again. Long moments passed and I feel the tension radiating off Ric. "My aftershave!" he finally exclaimed.

Ric rasied an eyebrow at him.

"My aunt bought me a new aftershave. You know how I can't stand to let her gifts go to waste. I'm wearing now, but I wasn't on Wednesday because she gave it to me yesterday when I stopped in yesterday on my way home from interrogating Morelli to fix her clogged sink. I do odd jobs for her when she needs them done ever since my uncle died three years ago of a-."

"Call Morelli see if he has the same aftershave as you and if he was wearing it the day he... the day Magenta ran away from him."

A terse nod and Tank was out of the room. Ric turned to me and nodded. That was it. Just a nod, nothing else, but it was enough. I knew that he had accepted that I wasn't as bad as I was or as bad as he remembered me being. I finally an okay person in his books, after years of trying to convince him.

Genny's POV

I was dreaming again. The same dream as before. The ultra light tap on the door waking me. The disorientation, thinking I'd just woken up for the sake of waking up until the tap came again. I rolled over and checked the time, yup, 6.45. Definitely the recurring dream. I waited a moment and sure enough there was another tap on the door. Throwing off the covers I eased to the end of the bed before swinging my feet over the edge so that I didn't step on Bob, then I realised that Bob had been my pillow and shrugged, remembering that Bob was always in a different place. As I crossed the room, just for authenticity (I was wearing day clothes) I pulled on my robe. I opened the door and said "mmm?" still wishing that I was in bed.

"Haven't we learned yet that sleeping before bed time is never goo for your sleeping patterns, which influences your eating patterns and in turn messes with every other system you can think of?"

I wasn't surprised to find Papa standing there, still dressed in fatigues and with a slight dirt-like odour hanging about him. Just to get the dream over and done with, I hugged him, but there was no whimper this time. I squeezed harder and nothing happened except him hugging me back. I pulled back, which was hard considering the grip Papa had on me, and looked upon his face with a furrowed brow.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stroking my hair.

"Bob didn't whimper," I said, more to myself than in answer to his question.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Was he supposed to whimper when someone came to the door?"

"No," I replied absently, "He usually whimpers when I hug you because I'm actually hugging him but I'm dreaming and think it's you and then I wake up because I realise that the whimpering sound isn't coming from you and it's Abuelo at the door and its 6.45 again and..." I stopped and looked up at him again. The smile was covering his face completely and he was laughing. "I'm not dreaming am I?"

"No, Genny-Babe. I'm really here, just got off a plane an hour ago. Hug me like you mean it." I did and I felt better for it. "That's better. I hear you've had a few rough and confusing days." I nodded and snuggled deeper into his chest. "We're trying to get to the bottom of it at the moment. Why don't you come down to the kitchen and steal a couple of the cookies she's just finished baking. Choc-choc-choc, your favourite."

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_I don't have to say it do I? Oh well, I will anyway. REVIEW!! Please? Thank you. Greatly appreciated._


	15. From Immaturity to Senility

_Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all. It's been a while since I updated and I am appalled to say that I have made up exactly zero excuses as to why. Admonish if you will, but make sure to do so in a review. The latest chapter awaits your eyes below, so stop reading here and move down the page._

Chapter 15

Papa sat across right next to me at the kitchen table while I made short work of Abuela's cookies. The first three disappeared in the blink of an eye and the next two were gone soon after. The sixth one I picked up I forced into his mouth. He coughed a bit but finally swallowed and tried to shove a cookie into my mouth. Most of it ended up in crumbs on my top and the table, but he managed to get enough of it in that I choked a little when I inhaled sharply from my laughter. Once we recovered with the help of each of us taking a gulp of my milk he picked up a cookie from the plate and took a bite, grinning widely at me as he did so. I'm sure my jaw hit the floor as I watched him willingly eat the sweet food, or at least the table top. Usually I had to fight him to even take a bite of ice cream or eat a jelly bean. This was phenomenal.

"So tell me about the good parts of your holiday thus far," he prompted taking another swig of my milk.

"First of all, I didn't have you here stealing my milk," I scolded, moving the glass far enough away from him that he couldn't reach it without getting out of his seat. "I had a great time with the Lost Boys."

"Lost Boys?" Tío Eloy asked, sauntering in and stealing a cookie. "I thought you were too old for Peter Pan."

"The mere fact that you knew instantly that they were from that particular children's movie makes that snide remark redundant, don't you think?" Papa replied evenly.

"The Lost Boys is my nickname for Papa's men," I explained as a blush rose on Eloy's cheeks.

There was a moment of contemplation before he said slowly, "If they're the Lost Boys, then that makes you Peter Pan!"

This comment was directed toward Papa, who, in the blink of an eye, was over the table and had Eloy in a sleeper hold. Tío Eloy was struggling to get away when Tía Celia entered and took up residency in Papa's hastily vacated chair. She casually picked up a cookie from the quickly emptying plate and began to nibble on it as Papa growled, "Yeah, that makes me Peter Pan. What's it to you? You have a problem with that? Peter Pan is a _hero_ Eloy, which is more than I can say for you. When was the last time you did anything for anyone? Huh?"

"Brings back memories," Tía Celia commented lightly with a dreamy smile on her lips. "They used to fight like this all the time. Actually, now that I think of it, there was probably an argument involving Peter Pan back then too." She giggled a little and went on nibbling the cookie for a while. "Eloy's right," she stated firmly a few moments later, then a shocked expression came over her face. "I never thought I'd ever say that," she explained to me on the side, "but I don't think he's Disney's Peter Pan."

Papa and Eloy had disengaged at this comment and were now gazing upon her like she had two heads. I must admit, my expression can't have been much better, given the curiosity I hankered for her explanation, which didn't follow for several minutes as she continued a silent, internal contemplation. As time stretched by I noticed Papa grab another cookie and Eloy try to take it off him. This ended in Papa punching Eloy in the gut and Eloy moving to the far end of the table, out of reach from his violent older brother.

"By the way," Eloy mentioned when Celia still hadn't elaborated several minutes later. "The last time I did something for somebody was today. If you'll recall."

Papa gave a short nod, glanced briefly at me and thanked him. The friendly back and forth was cut off, however, when Papa's cell rang on his belt. He flipped it open and hit the button for speaker phone. "Tank?"

"Need to talk to you. I'm in the garden"

"Be right out." He shut the phone and was rising to leave when it struck me how odd the situation was. Why was Tank calling from the garden? Wouldn't it make more sense to simply come inside and tell it to him face to face? I was about to voice my questions, but he kissed me lightly on the forehead and told me he'd explain when he got back.

"He's more like Peter Pan from the movie _Hook_," Celia stated, recapturing only half my attention. "But from the end of it, not the beginning. He used to..." That was all I took in before my mind wandered back to the case of Tank calling Papa on his cell from the garden rather than simply coming inside. It just didn't make sense, no matter how I looked at it. If it was confidential information he still could have come in. Maybe he's hiding something, or he discovered something in the garden and didn't want to risk losing it. I suppose that makes sense.

Without my knowledge, I had somehow drifted to the window above the kitchen sink that looked out on the garden. It seemed clear that it was not a discovery he was afraid of losing. If it were I should be seeing at least the occasional gesture toward it, instead it just looked like another ordinary information sharing conversation. I should know, I've witnessed thousands of them over the years.

Confusion suffused my mind once more as my logical explanation was disproved. I was back at square one.

I shook my head lightly to move a stray tendril of hair from my eye I caught sight of the patio furniture on my peripherals. A gasp slipped past my lips as I recalled the events of the afternoon. He was avoiding me, not that I could blame him. If Tío Eloy was to be believed, I had imagined the entire horrid happening and completely overreacted. It made me wonder if the thing with Dad had happened. _Oh god! _What if it really _didn't_ happen? I must look like a complete and utter idiot right now.

"Not a complete idiot, Genny-Babe. Some parts are missing."

Turning rapidly to face my Papa, in the process giving myself a head rush, I realised what he had just said. "I thought you said that bumper stickers were a waste of time, money, resources and space," I said, recalling the conversation we'd had when I was ten looking up bumper sticker quotes on the internet. "You said that if you ever caught me doing anything remotely bumper sticker related you would chain me to a parking metre so that I could read all the bumper stickers of the cars that parked there from the time I was chained there until I starved to death because you certainly would not be feeding me after such behaviour." It was true. And that was almost a direct quote from that conversation. I remembered it so well because he had his crazy eyes on and I was scared. You always remember things way more when you're scared.

"I may have said that, but I certainly didn't mean it."

"How can you possibly say that?" I squeaked. "You had your I-mean-it mouth set and you even said 'I mean it' at the end of the threat."

"You were on the computer in my office and I needed to get some work done. I just did what I had to do in order to get you to move. Which you did, if memory serves." He was half smiling, but only God knows why. For five years I've been afraid to even glance at the back of a car in case I inadvertently read a bumper sticker. He can't possibly be finding that funny... can he?

"I left that room almost in tears, Papa! I was terrified you would punish me for the initial encounter rather than waiting for the reoccurrence. Do you know, I actually think I have a phobia of the back ends of cars because of that day?"

"If you're so terrified of them how come you knew that was from a bumper sticker?" Papa countered rather than address my possible loss of sanity.

"Meli told me about it once," I muttered, staring intently at my socked feet. It felt weird to be having this conversation with Papa. I'd never admitted to being afraid of anything to him and being afraid of the back end of cars was definitely the type of thing you keep on the down low, especially from your ex-mil father. "When do you find the time to read bumper stickers?" I enquired, trying to keep my mind of the fact that I had just unveiled.

A wry grin graced Papa's face as he replied. "When I'm sitting in traffic on my way to meetings with the school principal. When I'm sitting in traffic ferrying my daughter and her friend to a fro on weekends. When I'm sitting in a stationary car waiting for my daughter and her friend to be done spending my money at the mall."

"You know, you could always come with us if you're that bored," I interjected.

"When I'm on a stakeout and I find my mind wandering from the task at hand," he continued, steadily ignoring the suggestion of trailing two teenage girls through Macy's.

"Wait just on e cotton picking minute here," I interrupted, amazed by the statement he had just made (And realizing that I had been spending a lot of time with Tank for me to make the statement I had just made... _cotton picking minute?_ –Shudder-). "You're mind _actually_ has the ability to wander from the task at hand? I think I'm going into shock." If his words hadn't made me go into shock I thought his next action sure would have. Papa looked at me as if I was stupid (which I was beginning to think I may have been) and _rolled his eyes._ Call the press! This has to be front page material if ever I saw it.

"My mind wanders on the occasion," he told me, rather haughtily I thought. "Just now, for example. I came inside intending to explain everything that I had information on in regards to the current situation. Instead, I find myself drawn effortlessly into a conversation about my bumper sticker reading habits."

I snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and sat back down at the vacated table. "You brought it on yourself," I informed him. "Now sit and explain. Why did Tank call you from the garden?"

"We think that the happenings of the last couple of days are linked to the cologne Tank and Morelli wear," he said. Quickly. It was almost as if he let it all gush out. Weird.

I took a moment to process his words. They didn't make sense. Maybe that's the problem. "I'm going crazy and nothing is making sense to me anymore even though it's totally logical to everyone else in the world. What was that disease that makes you say stuff that doesn't make sense but think that you were making sense and everyone else can't understand what you're saying? It was in an episode of House. I swear it was. Maybe this is a variant of that disease. I should be institutionalised regardless. How can whatever happened to me this week be linked to the cologne Tank and Dad wear? I've been around them my entire life practically and not single incident like this has occurred before. Unless... _Christ._ Not only am I going crazy, I'm losing my memory too. There have probably been thousands of incidents like this. I just can't remember them because I'm senile. Is it possible to be senile at fifteen? I bet this is how Great Gran feels all the time. Next time I see her I'm going to give her a great big hug to let her know I love her. No mixed messages in hugs... What am I saying? _Of course_ there are mixed messages in hugs! Look at this week! Two of the men in my life, whom I love, adore and look up to most have touched me inappropriately... I think... And probably, I won't even remember to let Great Gran know how I know how she feels anyway because I'm senile-."

The words I hadn't realised I was saying out loud were cut off abruptly when Papa placed his large, calloused hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look him square in the eye. He stared at me for a moment. "You are not going crazy. You are not senile. This week is the first time this has happened. I'm sure Great Gran knows you love her, but would love a hug anyway. The only way a hug can put across mixed signals is if you hate the person you're hugging. Now, take a deep breath and share the watermelon." His lips twitched upward as he said that last part. It was a phrase Meli and I often used when telling each other to calm down. It was a reference to Tai Chi, or Yoga or something. It's really goofy and generally works in, not calming us down, but causing us to fall over laughing. "I don't really feel like goof-balling right now, Papa," I muttered. "I'm sorry I freaked out."

"It's fine. I've had years of practice with dealing with your freak outs." He paused a moment to kiss me on the forehead. "And before you, I had a warm up, dealing with some of your mother's freak outs. My life just would not be my life if I didn't have a Plum style freak out to deal with. So don't apologise. Having you freak out on me like this, while not my favoured activity, keeps me in touch with the real world, where people have problems that can be solved without firearms-."

"Sometimes that's debatable," I interjected.

"- And this way I don't have to eat copious amounts of pie to stay in touch with the real world. If you don't freak out I'll completely lose touch and _you'll_ be visiting _me_ at the funny farm." He paused again. "I demand to be admitted first."

We both laughed at this and I hugged him tightly; tighter than a boa constrictor would her next meal. I'm surprised his head didn't explode.

* * *

_You all know what I want now. It doesn't have to be long, just a short line to let me know what you thought of it. Thanks for reading._


	16. Leaving Egypt

_Hopefully this chapter should answer a few of those pestering questions you've all had._

Chapter 16

RANGER'S POV

She sat back and looked me straight in the eye with that piercing blue gaze so like her mother's. I knew what was coming before it came. Like her mother, she favoured the land of denial from time to time, but, also like her mother, she knew when it was time to demand answers. That's exactly what she intended on doing now. I could tell from the set of her mouth, and the determined look in her eye.

"We're leaving Egypt now," she informed me. "I'm confused as hell, and half afraid of what is going on, but we're leaving Egypt." I inwardly smiled at her joke and her bravery, and nodded. A moment passed while she twisted and untwisted the hem of her t-shirt, gnawed on her bottom lip and averted her gaze. It seemed that plane had not left crossed the border. I waited patiently. She looked up at me with frightened eyes and I knew we were now over the Mediterranean Sea. "Am I in trouble?" came her first timid question of the evening. Her gaze was wide with the hint of moisture around the edge. If she cried I'd be a lost cause. No matter how many times I've seen her cry in her life it always tears my heart in two. Some dark instinct inside me rears its head and I have the sudden urge to defend her from whatever had caused her upset. What confused me most when she was little was that a lot of the time it was me that had caused it. I'd come home from work stressed and she'd ask an innocent question, and I'd round on her without realising it. Many a night I lay in bed, mentally berating myself for my actions during those first few years. If those tears leaked out now, all the memories of every time I'd made her cry would flash passed and we'd get absolutely nowhere until I'd made sure that she was happy. Best to turn the tap off before the water starts flowing.

"Of course you're not in trouble, Genny. Remember the time you poured bleach on a pile of my clean uniforms?" She gulped and nodded. "You'd know if you were in trouble."

"Is Tank mad at me?" she substituted. Eyes now focused squarely on her lap.

I lifted her chin so that she was looking at me again. "No. He's not mad at you. He could never be mad at you." She didn't look convinced, so I went on. "He's always had a soft spot for you. You know that." I realised how that could come across, given the situation, when her eyes rounded and she leaned away from me a little. "I meant that whenever there was a problem he was always on your side, even if he knew you were in the wrong. He would take your side over _mine_, if I'm recalling the no-sweets-for-a-week punishment correctly. How many donuts did he manage to sneak in while I was in the apartment?" A slight smile graced Magenta's features as she thought back. Finally she held up nine fingers for me to see. "Is my point proven?" I asked. "Before you, Tank wouldn't have taken anyone's side but mine. He'd go against his own grandmother if it meant sticking by my side."

The sweet girl nodded solemnly and thought for a few more seconds before the next question tumbled from her lips. "Why is Tank avoiding me if he's not mad at me?"

Shaking my head a little, I couldn't help but think that only she would be concerned about how the man reacted to her actions even with what she thought happened between them. Rather than marvel over the ability a while, like I wanted to, I replied with all the honesty in the world. "If Tank comes near you something will happen."

I saw her swallow hard and become panicked. "Don't hurt him!" she exclaimed, bolting to her feet in indignation. "You can't!" she went on, waving her hands about in an irritated manner that seemed, to me, very Italian. A trait that had no doubt been passed down from Stephanie and nurtured into life through time spent with Morelli. "He's your best and longest friend! You told me so yourself! Whatever happened to forgive and forget? Or was that just a principle to get me through school? Not good enough for the real world?"

Not just a little confused by her adamant defence of the person she believed had touched her inappropriately, I held up my hand to get her to calm down. Her words stumbled to a stop and I motioned for her to sit, but she simply crossed her arms and remained in place. I sighed. "I didn't mean something would happen to Tank," I explained softly. "I meant something would happen to you."

At this Magenta sank spineless back into the chair in front of me with a mournful groan. "He did, didn't he?" she moaned. "Eloy was lying. Or blind. He's probably in cahoots with him. Oh God..."

"Tank would never touch you like that!" I exclaimed. "No one who knows me would ever dare to touch you like that if they intended on living. Eloy was right. If he was wrong that would also mean that Celia is wrong. Celia is never wrong." I paused to let that sink in. "What I'm trying to say is that if Tank was in your presence right now things would happen to you that aren't really happening."

I was met with a blank stare akin to the one I received from my entire crew the day I told them I was co-guardian to Steph's little girl and that Steph, herself, had died. Genny floundered around like a fish out of water for the words she needed as the blank stare became more of a confused mask. "What... What do you mean?"

"Do you remember your fourteenth birthday?" I asked, by way of working up to an acceptable explanation.

"Vaguely," she answered, still confused. "Why?"

"Do you remember the paranoia you felt? That distinct feeling that someone was watching you? And then how you were sure that someone had stolen the television remote from the coffee table because you could find it, even though it was right there next to the bong?" A mute nod was her only reply. "We're pretty sure it's something like that."

"You think I'm high?" Her voice was small and hurt and the moisture was threatening again. _Recommence evasive manoeuvres._

"No. We don't think you're high. We think that it is linked to the cologne Tank is wearing."

As I watched, I saw the inevitable confusion darken her usually bright eyes even more. She was drawing the same lines we all had. She'd been around Tank almost her entire life. This was the man that never changed. How could his cologne be the cause of this? "Wouldn't this have happened sooner if it were to do with Tank?" she asked slowly. "I mean. I spend a lot of time with Tank. He's the same as he was five, even ten years ago. He uses the same laundry detergent, the same shampoo, the same set of bed sheets even. This can't possibly be his fault. It's me. It has to be me. I'm not stable. I've never been stable. Look at my requirements to sleep! And if it's Tank's aftershave how come I had the same experience with Dad the other day? It doesn't make sense Papa!"

Instead of correcting her from the word go, I let her finish her rant. It's easier to address all her concerns when I know them all. She was on her feet again by the end of her tirade and her arms were flailing once more as she paced back and forth in front of me.

"Tank's aunt gave him a bottle of aftershave last time he played Bob the Builder for her. That was yesterday. This afternoon after his work out he reportedly decided to try it out. Then he came to visit you and make sure you were hold up alright. You caught a concentrated whiff of it and, we believe, that is the cause of what happened. Even though it did not actually happen. Does that make sense?"

"Everyone keeps telling me that it didn't happen," she stated. "I want to believe them, I do. It's just..." a single tear streaked down her cheek as she turned away from me. "It seems so real in my mind. The betrayal from two of the people I love most in the world. It's hard, Papa." She turned back to face me and the tears running in great rivulets down her face. "I don't want to believe that what I think happened happened but my memory won't let me deny it," she sobbed, punctuating her words with a moist sniff.

I pulled her onto my lap and hugged her tightly to me. Every tear she had shed in my presence was competing for attention in my memory; I couldn't stand seeing her like this. She wrapped her arms around my neck in a vice like grip and nuzzled her face into my shoulder just like she used to in the 'scary' part of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I buried my own face in her curls and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. It was the same shampoo her mother used, not that I had ever told her. I made a mental note to mention it when we finally sat down and had our talk about the woman as I rubbed my hand up and down her back to sooth her grief. "Shhh. It's okay. I know it's hard. Everything will be alright; I'll make sure of it. Tank isn't going to hold this against you. He loves you more than life itself. All the Lost Boys do. You know that."

"What about Dad?" Her voice was muffled when she spoke, but from experience, I could understand her clearly.

I wasn't sure if I could say the same for Morelli, so I avoided it. "Everything will be fine," I promised. "You'll see. Before you know it everything will be hunky dory."

"Nice try," she told me, still buried in my shoulder. "You don't know how Dad's going to react. And I disrespected him so it's going to be way, way worse."

Her words reminded me of one of the emails she had sent me while I was away. "He should have told you." She pulled back from my shoulder so that she could look me in the eye. She wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, sniffed again and cocked her head to the side, silently asking what I was on about. "He should have told you that he was dating," I explained. "I should have picked up on the fact that he was dating." I added reluctantly.

"You changed the topic," my daughter informed me. "You never change the subject, not unless I'm yabbering on about boys. Or '_women's stuff'_." She added the last part in a deep voice as she imitated the male term for, well, women's stuff.

"You changed the subject," I countered. "I merely commented on an aspect of the topic further away from where you were commenting. Besides, there's not a lot more we can do to help put your mind at ease until Lester and Bobby get here."

She gave a small groan. "Lester and Bobby are coming? They're gonna make a fuss out of the entire ordeal! Just call me Egg, because I'll surely be coddled. They always take things to the extremes! A paper cut is the equivalent to an inch deep gash in their books. I'd hate to see what happens if I ever break a bone. They probably won't let me out of bed until I die." She huffed and crossed her arms.

"I told you, Genny-Babe, they love you."

"You never told me how Dad fits into the cologne theory," she prompted, rather than continue to debate the merits of have Bobby and Lester come out.

"Same cologne." A moment of her staring prompted me to continue. "We're assuming he's recently acquired a bottle of the same cologne Tank got from his aunt."

"And how, exactly, is the presence of the two most over protective men in my life going to assist in solving this dilemma?"

"They're bringing the security footage from the patio."

She seemed to give this a lot of thought before asking, "Wouldn't it have been easier for us to go home?"

I let a chuckle escape my control. "Tank would be fairly marooned. He can't come near you until he's showered thoroughly and changed his clothes. That would mean he'd have to stay here, because he can't come in the car with us. Plus, Morelli is actively looking for you in Trenton and we're not sure of how he intends to act when he finally finds you. We're not saying he wants to hurt you, we're just conscious of his temper and his strength. Like you said, the fight you had could contribute to an overall bad situation."

"How long till I'm eggified?" she asked, with a stubborn frown.

"You know you're hard to keep up with, don't you?" I teased. "You're bouncing back and forth between topics here."

"I think my brain is short circuiting," she said with a mixture of amusement and reluctance. "When do Lester and Bobby get here?"

"A couple of hours. They're bringing a change of clothes for Tank so that he can grace us with his presence when we further discuss the issues. He's big, borrowing is hard for him."

She stood from my lap and started towards the fridge. "I should make sure Bob has something to eat and drink. Which bowls will Abuela not mind a dog befouling?"


	17. A Little Bit of Stress

_So it's been ages since I updated, but thanks to some VERY encouraging reviews just recently I managed to find my inspiration again, and wrote this chapter, as usual, during my lectures and on the train. _**Chapter 17**

"Go fish," Bobby announced proudly, a giant grin on his face as Lester picked up another card. "King?" His grin grew wider when Lester handed over the card he'd just picked up.

I watched, still utterly perplexed after over an hour, as Bobby then started moving cards into some kind of order on the coffee table in front of him. After a few minutes he stopped, looked over the cards on the table, then glanced at the cards in his hand and pulled a card from the deck. He gazed expectantly at Lester.

"Three?" He asked hopefully.

"Go fish," Bobby grinned again. He was really starting to weird me out with all his grinning, and it was annoying too. It didn't matter that I didn't understand the game in the least, or that the grin was in no way directed at me, the fact that he was acting so smug ticked me off. "Seven?" He screwed up his face as if her were guessing out of the blue, but everyone in the room knew by now that there wasn't a guessing molecule in his body right now. He knew what card Lester had and he wanted it.

Lester threw a card at him. "How the hell do you do it?" he exclaimed. Apparently he'd had enough of Bobby's antics as well.

"A magician never reveals his tricks," Bobby said with a knowing smile, moving his cards around the coffee table again.

So I guess I should explain a few things here, yeah?

I was squished into the corner of Abuela's overstuffed, over-loved couch, next to Bobby, with Lester sitting cross legged on the floor across the from him and the coffee table between them. They'd been playing the hand of cards for just over an hour and no one had won yet. Not for lack of trying on either of their parts, they were obviously going at it with no reserves, it just wasn't getting anywhere.

About half an hour ago, Tank had entered the room and wedged himself onto the other end of the couch, despite the fact that there were two armchairs standing completely unoccupied. The air immediately grew tense. Everybody knew what had transpired. Nobody knew how to react, least of all me. Tank didn't acknowledge my presence, nor anyone else's, he just sat silently. We didn't acknowledge him either. The only sounds in the room were Bobby and Lester playing their stupid indecipherable card game.

Abuelo came in, glanced at us all not talking to each other, shook his head and muttered something in Spanish before shuffling his slipper clad feet over to his easy chair, snatching up his newspaper, and plopping down with a sigh. He glared at Lester and Bobby for a moment, muttered some more and opened the paper with a flourish.

"Ten?" Lester asked, a tad dejected by now.

"Go fish," Bobby replied, that grin still plastered on his face. If I didn't know better, I'd have sworn he was giddy with alcohol. "Queen." It wasn't even a question this time; he just stated it like a well known fact.

Lester was absolutely furious. "This is absolute bull shit!" he suddenly roared, throwing down his cards. "You've rigged the deck!"

Bobby just smiled. "If I'd rigged the deck, don't you think I would have won by now?" He was cool, calm and collected, everything Papa expected of his men when faced with a possible threat. And by golly was Lester starting to look like one right now. Bobby laid down his cards. "I can't help it if you let me know what card you've just picked up."

"You could see my hand?!" Lester exclaimed.

"In a manner of speaking. Yes."

Abuelo had lowered his paper to watch the argument, an oddly amused-cross-annoyed expression creeping into his features.

"You realised you've had an unfair advantage this entire time?" Lester continued.

"Not the entire time," Bobby soothed. "Just the last seven or eight turns. And really, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

Lester's lips thinned into one straight line across his face. "How did you do it?" he gritted out.

"Polarised sunglasses hanging from you neckline," Abuelo cut in with a disapproving cluck. "My canasta partner and I used that trick to know what the other hand in his hand for a while until everyone caught on to what we were doing."

This brought a small smile to my face. That Lester had been felled by something as simple as where his put his sunglasses was enough that if Papa ever heard about it, which he no doubt would, he would be put back through basic training. Turning my head to congratulate Bobby, I accidentally locked eyes with Tank. He gave me a ghost of a smile and an almost nod of the head. I wanted to avert my gaze, but at the same time, I didn't want to offend him anymore that I already had.

"Shame on you for teaching my granddaughter how to cheat," Abuelo was saying, drawing my attention back to the situation. "You should know better than to engage in such habits." He turned to face me. "Don't you _ever_ follow their example, Magenta, you're much too precious to become a cheat, lying scumbag like the riffraff you papa employs."

"Hey!" Lester cried. "I resent that! I wasn't the one cheating, he was." He jabbed a thumb in Bobby's direction.

"Only this time," came Papa's voice from the doorway. "Every other time you're the one to find a way to win without being truthful."

"I thought that's why you hired me," Lester grumbled.

"Can it, Les," Tank ordered.

Papa sat down in one of the vacant armchairs and sent one of his heart warming smiles to me. I smiled back and crossed the room in a heart beat when he opened his arms to me. When I was snuggled on his lap, all comfortable, he cleared his voice. Everyone fell silent and I looked around to see that Abuela, Eloy and Celia had all returned from wherever they had been for the last hour or so. On top of that, there was a plate of fresh brownies on the coffee table, hiding the muddle of cards from view.

"Well?" Bobby prompted when the silence stretched longer than he was comfortable with.

"We have no way of proving or disproving that what happened at Morelli's house actually happened," Papa stated, tightening his arms around me. "Nor do we have any proof that what happened this afternoon was triggered by Tank's cologne." He paused as if waiting for someone to jump to their feet and present him with hard evidence that it was indeed triggered by the cologne. I was half hoping someone would, and put my mind at ease that I wasn't just going crazy. I mean, sure, I forget stuff all the time, and my friends all call me cooky, but hallucinations? I don't think I'd cope well with that.

"I'm sorry," I muttered against Papa's chest. "I don't want to cause-."

"Shhh, _hermosura_, this isn't your fault and nobody is blaming you." Papa kissed the top of my head before continuing softly. "Even Tank has brushed it off like water off a ducks back. Haven't you, Tank?"

I looked up again in time to catch Tank's nod and reassuring smile. Tío Eloy reached in front of him to grab a brownie, but Abuela slapped his hand away.

"Those aren't yours," she admonished. "And besides, dinner practically ready."

As if on cue, my stomach growled, and all eyes turned to stare at me as the room filled with laughter. I tried to find comfort hiding on Papa's shoulder, but it was shaking too much with his own guffaws. After I slapped his chest a few times (causing more injury to my hand than to his chest, I'll tell you) he shut up and everyone soon followed suit.

"Let's go feed that monster before it attacks," Papa smiled, lifting me as he stood. He didn't put me down until we entered the dining room. I immediately started towards the kitchen to help bring everything to the table, but he clasped a hand on my shoulder and steered me forcibly toward my usual chair. "Sit, he ordered."

"But I'm supposed to -."

"Sit," he repeated before I could finish.

"But what about your rule?" I asked as I lowered myself into the seat.

He gave me a reassuring half smile and tugged on one of my curls. "You are relieved of your duties for the time being," he informed me. "I'll help Mama and Celia in your place." He placed a light kiss on my forehead and was out of sight in an instant.

Abuelo shuffled in and sat at the head of the table, eyeing me curiously. I was about to ask if anything was wrong when Tank, Lester and Bobby entered. From what I caught of their hastily concluded conversation, Bobby and Lester were still arguing about their game of cards. Tank looked at his usual place at the table, right next to me, and muttered something to the other two before exiting the same way Papa had. Lester and Bobby remained standing, conversing in private whispered by the doorway.

When Tío Eloy entered he didn't hesitate to simply take his usual seat and wait. As a result, the relative quiet of the room was broken by Abuelo's strong voice.

"What do you think you're doing in here?" he demanded. It was so out of the blue that I started, nearly falling off my seat. I looked over worriedly, an excuse on the tip of my tongue and breathed a mini sigh of relief. The question was directed at Eloy. "I thought I raised you to be useful and helpful," Abuelo continued before Eloy could answer. "What ever happened to the manners I taught you?"

"The kitchen is already crowded, Papa," Eloy finally replied. "It's foolish to try to squeeze in and help. Besides, Celia and Ricardo never let me do anything anyway, so what's the point."

"The point is," Abuelo said, deceptively calm. "You've never pulled your weight around here."

"Not for lack of trying," Eloy muttered. Luckily for him, Abuelo didn't hear him because at that very moment Celia came bustling in carrying two casserole dishes. Suddenly, the room was alive and crowded, people moving all over the place and calling instructions from one end of the table to the other. Not to mention back into the kitchen. Before I knew it everyone was seated and I was wedged between Papa and Lester, Abuela was on Papa's other side at the opposite end to Abuelo. Across from Papa was Tío Eloy followed by Tía Celia, Kaleb and Lydia. Next to Lester was Bobby and Tank with Josiah wedged between them. They'd had to add two extra leafs to the table so that we all fit around, and we were still rubbing elbows. What broke my heart though, was that Tank had obviously chosen to sit as far from me as possible.

After dinner Celia took her brood home, but Eloy stuck around to see how things panned out. We all trooped back into the living room where I noticed with dismay that Tank once again tried to keep half the room between us.

Papa insisted on keeping me next to him, which was weird, because he'd long ago instilled in me that I needed to be independent and stand on my own two feet. Currently I wasn't even allowed to sit on my own couch cushion, having been hauled into Papa's lap when he realised that there wouldn't be enough seat for everyone.

"So what's the dealio now?" Eloy enquired leaning forward to lean his elbows on his knees. "Do we sit around with sombre expressions and say things like, 'Well I don't know what we can legally do,' and, 'I'm afraid we're just going to have to pull the plug on the entire operation.'?"

Everyone looked at him like he'd suddenly started sprouted off Gaelic insults.

"You've watched too many bad movies, Eloy," Abuela admonished. "You should immerse yourself in proper culture like your brother."

"My brother?!" Eloy exclaimed. "I should be more like my _brother?! _MY BROTHER WENT TO JUVIE! MY BROTHER IS A MERCENARY! MY BROTHER INVADES THIRD WORLD COUNTRIES! FOR FUCK SAKE, I DON'T WANT TO BE LIKE MY BROTHER!"

A long silence followed while everyone stared at the floor, collecting their thoughts, or perhaps scooping their bottom jaws off the floor like I was. I'd never heard anything like that come out of Tío Eloy's mouth. He'd always been the mellow one. I mean... sure, he obviously had a few issues where Papa and Celia were concerned, but I just thought it was like... you know... normal sibling rivalry stuff... Now, I wasn't so sure.

It was Lester who finally broke the silence. "So do we wanna watch the patio footage from this afternoon?" he asked holding up a disc.

"I think that would be best," Papa replied. It was almost as if Eloy's outburst hadn't happened.

That thought made me gasp. _What if Eloy's outburst _hadn't_ happened? _Oh golly, this was all doing my head in. I didn't know what was real and what wasn't anymore.

"It's okay," Papa whispered in my ear. "It'll be okay, I promise. We all just need to reassure ourselves that nothing happened."

I nodded, unable to form any words at this point as I was still stressing over whether or not I was going insane.

_Please review. It means so much to me. I love to hear your thoughts._


	18. A Tiny Resolution

_Car broke down taking my sister to her clarinet lesson about an hour away from home in the middle of no where. I have named this small town Strandinavia regardless of it's actual name, and dedicate this chapter to it, as I wrote the majority of the chapter while waiting for the RACQ guy to turn up. Enjoy._

**Chapter 18**

We watched the patio footage and everything happened just the way Tío Eloy said it had. Tank carried me out and sat me on the table, keeping hold of my shoulders so that I didn't fall over backwards. After a moment, he squeezed my upper arm reassuringly and kissed my cheek. When he stepped back I saw the hurt expression on my face, heard my trembling voice as I accused him, then watched as I raced back to the glass sliding door. Tank turned to stare after me and the confusion and concern etched into his features caused my chest, which was already aching, to send a jagged blade of pain through my entire body.

I wasn't aware that I'd been crying, or that I'd been holding my breath until Papa's arms tightened around me and he began whispering my ear. "You need to breathe, querida," he soothed, rubbing my back. "Breathe for your Papa." I tried, but couldn't seem to draw any air into my lungs. When the realisation hit me, I became panicked, which in turned caused a fresh tsunami of tears to cascade down my cheeks. Papa's t-shirt was soaked, but none of us took any notice of it as I tried again and again to suck in air. It seemed the more I tried the less progress I made, and the more stressed I got.

Suddenly, I felt as if I was floating. I looked wildly about, my panic rising until I locked eyes with Tank. His face was mere inches from my own and his eyes, while filled with worry, were like the calm of the ocean – a muddy brown ocean, but calm none the less. Immediately, I began to calm down, my tears dried and the pain in my chest receded. My short, sharp gasps slowed and evened out until I was breathing at almost the same rate as Tank.

A distant memory flitted into the fore of my mind. I was six, playing in the park by the river under the supervision of Lester, while Papa was busy checking on a security system across town with Bobby and Tank. Before I even made it out of the car, Lester reminded me not to get too close to the riverbank.

An hour or so past as I ran around having the time of my young life. Evidently, an hour or so was long enough for me to forget Lester's warning. When the ball I had been chasing around rolled toward the river I didn't hesitate to race after it. In my haste I didn't notice the section of bank that had fallen away. One misplaced foot and I tumbled down the bank. When I landed at the bottom I had twisted my ankle pretty bad. Anyone would have thought I was being attacked from the amount of screaming I was doing. I screamed until Lesterd came, stopped long enough to sobbingly tell him it was my ankle that hurt and then screamed all the way to the hospital. As we sat in the waiting room I screamed my head off. When the doctor tried to examine my ankle I screamed blue murder.

It was only when Papa, Bobby and Tank arrived and Papa had scooped me up into his arms that I remember being able to stop screaming. Tank had stared deep into my eyes and the scream had simply died in my throat. The doctor had muttered something in a relieved tone and proceeded with his examination.

Now, as I stared into his eyes I wondered how I could ever have doubt him. I'd trusted him my entire life. Papa had trusted him most of his life. He was usually the first one I turned to when I had a problem. He was my oldest friend.

"I'm so sorry!" I wailed, throwing my arms around his neck and wrapping my legs around his waist. "Please don't hate me!"

Tank held me tighter against his chest as he let out a soft chuckle. "Hating you is like trying to hate a cute little sausage dog puppy. An impossible task."

He sat down with me on the couch and I looked around to notice that the only other person still in the room was Papa. He smiled at me and I lowered my head. "I'm sorry I pulled you away from your work again, Papa," I apologiesd.

I winced when I glanced up again to find his arms crossed over his chest and a stern expression on his face. "Who could possibly concentrate on saving the universe when your world is in crisis, Genny-babe?" he asked, and I could have sworn he was being deathly serious.

"You're not Batman anymore, Ranger," Tank informed him. "You're Peter Pan, remember?"

"You knew about that?" I asked sharply. He was about to reply when I held up a hand. "Wait!" I turned to Papa. "Batman?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Which story do you want first?" Peter Pan or Batman."

I hesitated for a full minute, not sure which to choose. "Batman," I finally decided.

"Best get comfortable, then," he muttered, lowering himself onto the coffee table.

He'd just about settled when Abuela yelled at him from somewhere on the other side of the house. "Ricardo Carlos, get off the damn coffee table! I don't want to have to tell you again!"

Papa and Tank grinned at eachother as Papa moved to the armchair. "Just like old times," they said simultaneously.

Ranger's POV

I'd just finished explaining how Stephanie had come to nickname me Batman and Magenta was in a fit of giggles cuddled into Tanks side on the couch. I must admit, I've always been jealous of the connection the two of them have, but it was good to see that she was no longer afraid of his presence, and that he wasn't avoiding her anymore. The awkwardness of the afternoon and evening had been lifted, replaced by the glorious sounds of my daughter's laughter.

"Know what?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"What?" I asked her.

"Batman suits you better than Peter Pan." I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but I was going to take it as one. "I don't see how the guys fit in with that though. I mean, Lost Boys works great when we figure you as Peter Pan. Speaking of which, you still need to explain how you knew about that." She jabbed a finger in Tanks ribs, with little effect. "But if you're Batman... Batman didn't have a group of men following him around."

"She called us the Merry Men," Tank informed her, rather than explain how he'd found out about her affectionate term for my employees.

Genny sat up on the couch, slipping from under Tank's arm and held her chin in thought. "As in Robin Hood and his Merry Men." It was more of a statement than a question and I got the impression she was thinking out loud, rather than engaging Tank and I in conversation, but I answered anyway.

"Yes."

"That would make you Robin Hood." Again, she wasn't asking, she was stating facts.

There was a short pause in which nobody said anything before Tank finally spoke. "Well, technically, yes, but he was still Batman regardless."

"I like Robin Hood," she said with a mischievous smile as she tilted her head to the side. "Rob from the rich and give to the poor. It's much better than the boy who refused to grow up."

"Sí!" Mama yelled from somewhere in the house. "He grew up too quickly!"

I shook my head. "Go to bed, Mama," I called back. "It's late."

"I know it's late, hijo, but I'm not going to bed until you go to bed. I know the things you get up to in the middle of the night!"

"Mama! I'm not sixteen anymore!" I yelled, getting frustrated that she still treated me as a child whenever I came home.

"Growing old is different to growing up, Ricardo," Papa had joined in the yelled conversation now. _Just great._ "Come to bed, Isabel, leave the boy alone."

When silence finally fell over the rest of the house I turned my attention back to my Genny-Babe and Tank. The latter was grinning stupidly at me, and I knew he was thinking back to all the things we'd done in our youth after Mama and Papa had gone to bed. Genny, on the other hand, was rolling her eyes at me. I thought back to all the times her mother had rolled her eyes at me and couldn't help smiling. "You're just like your mama, kiddo," I informed her. "She used to roll her eyes at me like that all the time. The resemblance in uncanny."

She rolled her eyes again. "Like you can talk. You're the spitting image of your parents too." I gave her a questioning raised eyebrow and she continued. "Doesn't what just happened seem familiar to you?"

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "Of course it does, they've been like that my whole life."

"You do exactly the same thing to Gen," Tank piped up. "It's weird sometimes. We'll be in your office, discussing business and then all of a sudden you're yelling at Gen to get out of the fridge and put the peanut butter back in the cupboard where it belongs."

"She knows she not allowed snacks before dinner."

"The door was closed and the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment," Tank insisted.

"Um, could we talk about what's going on right now?" Gen asked, looking a little unsure of herself. It made me want to reach out and drag her into my lap, but I knew she needed her Tank right now, so I let her be with him uninterrupted.

"What do you want to know?" I asked, placing hand on her knee. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Within reason," Tank intoned.

"I want to know what's happening with Dad?" she stated firmly, looking me straight in the eye. Daring me to deny her the knowledge she asked for.

I sighed heavily. I was hoping she would hold off on that particular question until we reached a positive stage, but I had told her I would answer her questions no matter what. "Your Dad is a bit... of kilter right now, Genny," I informed her, knowing full well that it wouldn't suffice.

"What do you mean 'of kilter'?" she asked, that familiar worried look edging into her eyes.

"He's been a bit... violent... towards the men back in Trenton," Tank filled. He squeezed her shoulders. "A couple of the Lost Boys have black eyes or blood noses. Hal has a particularly bad combination of the two."

Her eyes widened and she looked to me for confirmation. When I nodded slightly I watched the tears well in her eyes. She shook her head, a forlorn expression taking hold. "This is all my fault," she whispered. "He hates me now. I've screwed everything up."

That was the last straw. I couldn't just sit there and watch my daughter, biological or not, succumb to the thought that she was the cause of Morelli's temper tantrum. I scooped her up into my arms and started carrying her up to the spare bedroom where she was staying. We passed Bobby and Lester loitering in the hall and I told them they should set up the couch so they could sleep and that we'd discuss the situation and action plan in the morning. Tank followed us up to the room and sat quietly in the desk chair while I tucked her into bed. I pulled the covers up to her chin and she silently slipped her arms over top. This was another trait that reminded me of Steph, she didn't like to be confined, even in sleep. Sleeping bags were a real trial for her.

"None of this is your fault," I told her. "And I'm sorry it's happening at all. If I could have prevented it, I would have. It hurts me that you've had to go through all this hurt."

"Does Dad know I'm okay?" she asked.

"I'll call hi first thing in the morning and let him know what we know."

"Can I talk to him when you do?" _Bambi eyes. _I'd given in before she'd even asked the question, despite the fact that everything in me cried to diffuse the situation before letting her talk to the cop.

"Of course."

She smiled up at me, her eyes tired. "I love you, Papa. And I'm glad you chose me."

With a slight smile back I replied, "There was no choice in the matter. One look at you and I was hooked. Plus I promised your mama I'd give you a chance."

"Just a chance?" she asked sleepily.

"That was the agreement, but you cast a spell on me and I couldn't let you out of my sight even if I tried."

"I wish I could cast a spell and make it that this week never happened."

"Don't we all, honey. Don't we all." I leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep, I'll see you in eight hours."

"Are you sleeping in here?" she asked, sounding like her five year old self. "You're not leaving me are you?"

I gave her a special smile, just for her. "I'm mentally setting up my swag as we speak."

_Thanks for reading, and don't forget to continue reviewing._


	19. Reconciliation

_What better time to write an entire chapter for this story than the two hours I'd put aside for assignments. I think it's better spent on this anyway. So things are definitely starting to come together and become less angsty at this point, but for how long is anybody's guess. Thanks for all the fantastic reviews. _Chapter 19

I woke up to a tapping on my forehead. It was a rather disturbing sensation I had never before encountered. When I opened my eyes there was a hand in front of my face, which I assumed was the thing tapping on my forehead. I rolled away from it, and would have tried to go back to sleep if I thought it at all possible, but of course, chances were if I was awake it was because my eight hours were up.

"Finally," came a voice from behind me. Again, I was making assumptions here, but I guessed it was the voice attached to the hand that had been tapping my forehead moments ago. "I've been tapping on your head for the last seven minutes with no response. You sleep like the dead, you know."

"I know," I groaned, rolling back over to face Tío Eloy. "What are you doing in here? Where's Papa?" I looked pasted Eloy's shoulder, confirming that Papa was not in the room and got a little sad. He'd said he wouldn't leave me, but he wasn't here.

"Ricky's downstairs having a super secret meeting with the rest of his cavemen. I believe a conference call is involved," Tío Eloy informed me with a shrug. "And I'm here because I wanted to talk to you."

A frown furrowed my brow as I sat up and stretched. Why would Tío Eloy want to talk to me? "Why do you wanna talk to me?"

"It's about my outburst last night," he stated, no longer looking at me. I breathed a small sigh of relief knowing that the outburst had actually happened. "I just wanted to assure you that despite everything I said, you Papa's not a bad person."

I shook my head slightly. "I know he's not a bad person, Tío Eloy, if he were a bad person my mama wouldn't have asked him to look after me. And he loves me, bad people don't do love."

Now it was Tío Eloy's turn to shake his head. "You're such a girl."

"At least I don't wet my pants," I retorted.

"I told you already! The little one with the shifty eyes spilled her drink on me!"

"I'm sure that's what happened."

At that moment, movement in the hall caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see who or what it was. Tank was there, a phone held up to his ear. "Dad," he mouthed when I gave him a questioning brow raise. I pointed to myself, indicating that I wanted to talk to him. He gave a short nod and spoke into the phone, obviously interrupting a rant of some kind. "Morelli, she's right here, she wants to talk to you." He handed me the phone quickly and indicated for Tío Eloy to leave the room to give me privacy. I noticed, however, that Tank stayed. I was okay with this, it was just a little amusing that he told him to leave.

"Dad?" I said into the phone.

"Magenta! What on earth possessed you to run away from home like that? I've been out of my mind with-."

"If you're going to yell at me," I interrupted calmly, "I'm going to hang up right now."

"What kind of way is that to talk to your caregiver?" he asked, indignantly. "I deserve your respect."

"I'll respect you when you respect me," I told him, still managing to keep my calm demeanour. "I'm ready to discuss things in an adult manner, if you're ready."

"Discuss what?"

"Everything that's happened these holidays," I explained. "The other day you accused me of acting like a child. I want to know why you didn't tell me that you were dating."

"I thought it would make you hate me."

"Why would you dating make me hate you?"

"I was dividing my affections."

I sighed. "Dad, I'm fifteen." I paused, trying to think of how to phrase what I was about to say. "I've been dating for a year and a half."

"WHAT?" he exclaimed.

"Hear me out. I've been dating for a year and a half, living my life as normally as possible and feeling incredibly guilty about it, because I thought that you and Papa had put your lives completely on hold for me. I thought that you'd sacrificed finding love for me."

"Gen-."

"I was shocked when I found out you'd been dating, but I was also hurt. I'd been hurting for a over a year, thinking about how you had given up exactly what I was experiencing to give me a stable life, and then I find out that all the inner pain I'd endured was a lie, because you'd been dating practically all along."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Dad said. "And I wouldn't have ever regretted taking you in even if I hadn't been dating. You're my little girl." There was a full minute of silence. "I think she's the one," he told me in barely more than a whisper.

"What about Mama? Did you think Mama was the one?" I asked. I had no idea where the question came from. Probably, I'd been suppressing the thought all week.

"I loved your mama a lot," he confirmed. "But I don't think we would have ever worked out."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't love her the way she needed to be loved, and she didn't love me the way she needed to in order to maintain a healthy relationship."

"What's her name?" I was speaking so softly I barely heard myself.

"Tiffany," he informed me, equally as soft, and I could hear the love in his voice. "She didn't take well to finding out about you."

I laughed. "I figured as much. She seemed a little shocked on the phone. Do you think you can work it out?"

"I hope so, Gen, I really love her." There was a pause for a moment. "But that doesn't mean I love you any less," he added hastily.

Again, I let out a giggle. "I understand that it's possible to love more than one person at once, Dad. I love you and I love Papa and I love all my grandparents, despite the fact that they don't always get along."

"Good to hear. Now who are these boys you've been dating?"

Papa entered the room and I sent him a reassuring smile. I was feeling a lot better, knowing that Dad didn't hate me. Hopefully he would stop being violent. That gave me an idea. "Dad, I want you to promise me something."

"I promise to be more upfront with you about things in the future," he stated.

"That's good, but it wasn't what I was going for. I want you to promise me you'll stop being violent toward Papa's employees." I looked straight at Papa as I said it and watched as his eyebrows drew together. "And I want you to write them a formal apology for the injuries you've caused them."

"Gen-."

I giggled lightly when both Papa and Dad said my name at the same time. "Do you promise?" I asked Dad, ignoring Papa for the moment. He promised, and I said goodbye, handing the phone back to Tank.

"You didn't have to do that," Papa told me.

I tilted my head to the side, regarding him for a moment. "Yeah, I did. What he did wasn't right, and the... Merry Men," I grinned. "deserve an apology."

Papa shook his head as he sat down on the bed next to me. "You're becoming more and more like your mother every day," he told me. "She would be so proud of you."

"I think she'd be pretty proud of you too, Ricardo," said someone from the doorway. I turned to see who it was and felt my jaw drop to the bed.

* * *

_Don't forget to send me a review. Let me know who you think is at the door._


	20. Arrivals and Departures

**_I am terribly sorry to those faithful readers who have been (I assume) hanging out for this update. I did not mean for it to be so late, but I've had assessment after assessment for uni. Anyway, it's here now. Enjoy._**

**Chapter 20**

"What are you doing here?" Papa asked, sounding incredulous. "How did you get here? How did you find out about this place?" By the end he was less surprised and more suspicious. "Explain yourself woman!" Wow, he just jumped straight from suspicion to anger. Lucky her, I usually ahd to edure long minutes of intimidation before he got to the type of anger he was showing her.

"Chill Batman," she said, putting her handbag down and crossing the room toward us. "I'm here to help get this situation under control, and I got here the same way you did. Plane and car." She stopped directly in front of me and shoved her fringe out of her face before holding her arms out wide. "Well do I get a hug or not,kid?"

I grinned and launched myself at her, finally finding my voice. "Auntie Mare! I've missed you so much! How are you?"

She chuckled at my sudden enthusiasm and hugged me tighter to her chest. Her hands made their way into my rats nest of culs and she tugged gently. "I've been worried sick about you the last couple of days, but I'm better now. The more important question is how are _you_?"

"I'm okay." I shrugged. "I've been better, but I'm getting there."

"Ah, Maggie," she sighed, now holding me at arm's length to search my expression. :You're looking more and more like your mother every time I see you!"

I had to stop to think for a moment when she called me Maggie. No one had called me Maggie in years. "No one calls e Maggie anymore, Auntie Mare. It's Gen or Genny."

She looked disappointed for a moment hen cut her eyes to Papa in accusation. "When did this happen?" she demanded, letting go of me in order to slam her hands down on her hips. She acted just like all my friends' mothers. All nice and have-a-biscuit-dear one second, but say one thing wrong and they go all scary and burg. Like my Grandma. She was the queen of scary burg according to Lester, but it never seemed to phase Papa.

"Around the same time she grew breasts," Papa replied calmly. "She came home from school one day and announced that we were no longer to call her Maggie, but instead address her as Gen."

"And you allowed it?" she asked, sounding rather exasperated. Papa nodded silently. "Did you even try to explain?" Papa opened his mouth to say something, but obviously thought better of it, snapping it shut again and simply shaking his head solemnly from side to side.

I was starting to get the impression that I was missing something, and whatever it was I was missing seemed to be angering Auntie Mare. I wished I could have made it better, I'd caused enough trouble in the last couple of days, and I hadn't seen my mother's best friend in six years. I really didn't like the fact that her excitement to see me could be so quickly and easily washed away by something so inconsequential as my chosen nickname.

"Why not?" Auntie Mare was once ore demanding.

"I'm not answering that question until you tell me how you found out about all of this, let alone exactly where we were," Papa stated, crossing his big arms over his big chest at the same moment his punishment mask slid firmly into place. I'd nicknamed the blank stare his punishment mask because I always saw it just before he gave me my punishment. He stood from the bed to tower over Auntie Mare with a mean glare sneaking into his features. I guess he decided to back track to intimidation after all.

Letting out a small resigned sigh, I plonked back down on the bed next to Tank. He wrapped his arm around me and I sank gratefully into his side with a muttered, "It's too early for this."

Tank let out a small, almost silent chuckle and whispered in my ear. "It's twelve o'clock."

"Yeah right," I replied, also in a whisper as I rolled my eyes. If it was twelve o'clock that meant that I had slept for eleven and a half hours, which is, need I remind you, impossible. "I'll believe it when I see it." In response he held up his wrist, complete with watch. Sure enough it was twelve o'clock. I stared at the little hand for several gobsmacked moment taking in exactly what it meant. "I slept for eleven and a half hours..." I finally managed to utter. I looked up at Tank's grinning, nodding face and repeated. "I slept for eleven and a half hours."

"You sure did, girlie."

I jumped off the bed again and hugged Papa, effectively distracting him from his staring contest with Auntie Mare. "Papa!" I cried excitedly. "I slept for eleven and a half hours!"

"What?" he asked, looking confused.

"I slept for eleven and a half hours!"

"Nonsense." He looked at his own watch. My hopes plummeted in that moment and I loosened my grip around his chest. "It's only twelve o'clock," he told me, like it proved his point.

"And it was half past twelve when she went to sleep last night," Tank inserted.

"Exactly," Papa said, a mischievous smile breaking through his blank mask. "And she's been awake for half an hour, therefore, she only slept for eleven hours."

"I slept for eleven hours?" I asked Papa, looking for confirmation this time. He nodded and pulled me into a bone crushing hug.

Auntie Mare was staring at the three of us, trying to work out what was going on. "Why are we so excited over her having slept for eleven hours? She's Steph's daughter, surely she would have inherited her love of sleep."

"What do you mean, Mama's love for sleep?" I asked curiously.

"You mother could have slept through world war three if it ever happened," Auntie Mare explained. "It was hell trying to wake her up to get her to go to school. Then later is was impossible to get her to get out of bed to go to college. Waking her up for her to go to work was a fate worse than death."

"You should have tried getting her up at five for a run," Papa added in.

Auntie Mare shook her head and said. "This is all beside the point, of course. Why are celebrating an eleven hour sleep?"

!!!

"Where are we going?" I asked, strapping myself into the front passenger seat of Auntie Mare's rental car. Papa was in the back seat, grumbling about something or other, probably the lack of leg room, but Auntie Mare had insisted that I have the front seat, so there was nothing he could do. According to Tank Auntie Mare used to be shit-scared of Papa, until it came to the time when Papa and Dad were first given me. Apparently she'd come around to visit only to find Papa struggling to change my diaper. From that moment on, Auntie Mare has had her way over him. Whatever she says goes. It's kinda funny actually, because Auntie Mare is what Tank describes as typical 'burg, which is what Mama was until she met Papa then she changed and reportedly had Papa wrapped around her little finger. Now Auntie Mare is the tough as nails woman that makes Papa cower in his combat boots. She's not really tough as nails, she just has this stare thing that she does that makes Papa follow her orders.

"You'll see," Auntie Mare said mysteriously, pulling out of the drive way. "And you'll keep your mouth shut," she told Papa sternly. As usual, whatever Papa would have usually said died as a thought.

We were all quiet for a few minutes until I'd finally had enough of it. "Where are we going?" I asked more insistently, my curiosity taking over. "Why won't you tell me?"

"You'll see soon enough," Papa said soothingly.

By now I was not only curious, but anxious as well. I didn't like it when people kept secrets from me. They freaked me out when I finally found out about them, like the whole darkness thing and my windows having steel block outs, that freaked me out. And when the adults in my life deliberately neglected to tell me that Grandpa Plum was in hospital, that freaked me right the hell out. So whatever they weren't telling me right now, was freaking me out major. I needed to find something to get my mind off whatever it was.

"Tell me about Mama." It was supposed to be a question, but probably came out sounding more like a demand. "Please," I added, just to be on the safe side.

Paused at a red light, Auntie Mare turned to look at Papa. "Am I allowed?" I turned in my seat to watch Papa's answer, knowing it would be a silent one. He simply nodded and we both turned back o face the road. "What do you want to know?" Auntie Mare asked.

I thought long and hard about her question, knowing that there was a lifetime of knowledge beneath that vamped up hair of hers. I could ask anything I wanted about Mama and she would be able to answer it. Anything, I supposed, except the one thing that no one had ever mentioned. My real father. Sure they had assured me that neither one of my guardians was my biological father, but they had never once offered to share more than that with me, and I got the feeling that if I asked I would be breaking some hearts, even though it's probably my right to know who's sperm went into creating me.

I was drawing a complete blank on what to ask when something that had happened that morning jumped into my head. "Why did you have such a strong reaction when I told you everyone calls me Gen now?" I asked.

Papa sighed in the back, and I'm not sure whether it was from relief or frustration, my guess would be a mixture of both, since he was never one to take the simply way out. I looked over at Auntie Mare to find her eyes on the rear view mirror, locked on Papa. There seemed to be a few beats of silent communication before she turned to me, a half pained expression on her face. "Before she died, you mama would always call you Maggie," she said simply. "We just wanted to keep that connection alive."

"Oh." I kinda felt guilty for making them lose that little connection to Mama now, but I just couldn't fathom being called Maggie again. "I'm sorry, Auntie Mare, I didn't know it meant so much to you all."

She smiled at me then, and assured me, "It's okay. Genny suits you much better. I was just a little shocked, that's all. And we have so many memories of your mother that trying to keep that small part alive was probably pointless. You're entitled to your own opinion." We were all quiet again for a few minutes until she got us onto the highway [A/N: I wasn't sure if Americans call it a highway, freeway or what, so I just called it a highway cos I'm used to highways].

"Where are we going," I repeated, noting that we were heading in a Trentonly direction and could be going home. "Are we going home?" I asked.

"Not quite, Genny-Babe," Papa said, and sounded like he was going to go on and explain until Auntie Mare shot him a glare.

"What else can I tell you about your mother?" Auntie Mare asked, sufficiently distracting me yet again.

Again I thought through the myriad of questions stored in my head and came up blank for a few moments. Finally I asked, "What was she really like?" It probably seemed like a stupid question to ask, considering Papa and the Lost Boys/Merry Men had been telling me about her all week, but I felt that since Auntie Mare was Mama's best friend she would know the intimate details of Mama's mind better than anyone else and be able to tell me about the true Stephanie Plum, rather than the images people had superimposed on her, like the kickass bounty-hunter image, or the disaster prone bounty-hunter wannabe.

"Where to start?" Auntie Mare questioned, a wide eyed look on her face. "Ranger, where would you start?"

I had to replay that moment in my head several times before I actually believed that Auntie Mare was asking Papa's opinion on something. It had never happened before.

Papa simply shrugged and said, "You knew her better than any of us, I can't tell you where to begin."

"Well, Stephanie and I met in kindergarten," she explained. "I was playing with the baby dolls and she was running around pretending to be Superman."

**_As always, I encourage you to send me all your wonderful wonderful reviews. Suggestions and ideas are always welcome._**


	21. Ingrid and a Revelation

_Again, it's been an awefully long time since I last updated, and unfortunately I have only myseld to blame. Well, maybe me and my lack of inspiration. It doesn't matter now, though. I've got a chapter for you here and you get to read it. Enjoy._

**Chapter 21**

"He looks just like him!" Auntie Mare exclaimed from somewhere across the room. "Ranger! You have to see this!"

Papa, who had been leaning sullenly against the wall next to the door, simply looked over at her and shook his head once. I guess he was still annoyed at her.

Let me explain a little here before I delve further into Auntie Mare's discovery. After being on the road for a mere forty-five minutes we had gotten to the topic of pets. When I mentioned that Papa had never let me have a pet Auntie Mare plunged us all into a near death experience, turning right around in the driver's seat and screaming at Papa, all the while steering the car all over the road. Finally she turned back around, narrowly missing a semi-trailer and swerving into the wrong lane momentarily.

Five minutes later she was pulling off the highway into a nearby town and stopped at a pet store. The pet store we were currently standing in. Auntie Mare was determined to get me a pet. Papa was determined to be difficult.

I'd been staring at the birds for about three minutes thinking it would probably be the best bet, considering the look on Papa's face said something along the lines of "Get something that will fit down the toilet in one flush" crossed with "Don't get a dog or a cat" with a hint of "Nothing exotic." I know what you're thinking. Who could possibly read so much from one expression, right? Well, I've had a lot of practice at it. He and the Lost Boys can actually have full conversation just through facial expressions, they usually do this when they're trying to keep secrets from me. But I digress. The problem with getting a bird was, I didn't want a bird. They were all feathery, and beaky, and they squawked, and according to the shop assistant some of them were projectile poopers. Frankly, I just didn't want to deal with that kind of thing.

"Seriously, Ranger," Auntie Mare was calling as I made my way toward the fish. "It looks just like him. Like, identical!"

I stopped in front of a fish tank and leaned down to see in. Suddenly Papa was right beside me, yanking my arm so that I had no other choice than to stand up straight again. "You're not getting a fish," he growled somewhat forcefully. That was perfectly okay with me. Fish were boring. What got me was the oddly pained look on his face when he glanced at the fish tank.

I was about to ask what was wrong when Auntie Mare bounded over and grabbed us both by the hand, dragging us over toward the hamsters.

"See?" she implored, pointing to the one lonely little hamster in the back corner of his cage. "He's the spitting image."

Papa peered over her shoulder, effectively blocking my view, and I heard him gasp in surprise. "The only thing missing is the soup can," he breathed. Without even letting me get a good look at the little critter, Papa had beckoned over the shop assistant. "We'll take him," he informed the man. "Put together a cage with the essentials."

"Wait just one cotton picking minute!" I exclaimed, crossing my arms over my chest. There it is again, I'm spending too much time with Tank. "What am I missing here?" I asked. "I thought I was the one getting a pet!"

Auntie Mare looked from Papa to me and back for a full minute. Papa wasn't paying attention, which sooo wasn't like him. Finally Auntie Mare tapped Papa on the shoulder to grab his attention. "Your daughter is speaking to you," she informed him, when he glared at her. "I think she may be feeling a little deprived."

He looked over at me with a smile that died when he caught sight of my expression. I think it was pretty obvious that I wasn't happy at the moment. "Genny-Babe, what's wrong?"

"Auntie Mare said _I_ was getting a pet, not you! You always said I couldn't have a pet. You said that Bob was enough, even though I only got to see him on holidays and when I went to visit Dad. You said I wasn't-."

Papa was staring at me like I'd suddenly sprouted a second head, but it was Auntie Mare that finally calmed my rant, effectively cutting me off at the same time. "This is a very special hamster, Gen."

I felt rather juvenile for doing it, but I recrossed my arms over my chest with a huff of hot air and schooled my expression into a careful pout. Papa may have his punishment face, but I could do a lot of damage with my pouts. "He looks just like every other hamster I've ever seen."

"Actually sweetheart," Auntie Mare replied. "This hamster looks exactly like a hamster you mother had."

"Mama had a hamster?" I asked, forgetting about my irritation and looking curiously to Papa and the hamster the sales assistant was putting into the cage. "And it looked just like this one?" I'm not sure, because I wasn't looking, but I think both Papa and Auntie Mare nodded in response. "What was it's name?"

"Rex."

I laughed. My mother had named a hamster, of all animals, Rex. It made me feel better for naming my stuffed bunny toy Toaster when I was six. I stared at the hamster now in the cage Papa was holding, contemplating it. Rex didn't really suit this hamster. This hamster was more of a Greta... no wait... Ingrid. I smiled at Ingrid and she turned her head to the side twitching her whiskers. I stuck my finger through the bars of the cage and she came over to sniff and then rub against it. Her nose tickled and I jerked my hand away.

Papa's eyes widened at my action. "Did it bite you?" he asked and before I could deny it, he had turned on the sales assistant. "What kind of place are you running here? Teaching animals to be aggressive toward innocent little girls. I should have you-"

"PAPA!" I exclaimed, cutting him off. "Ingrid didn't bite me. Her whiskers tickled and it took me by surprise. That's all, I promise. And I'm not a little girl!"

"Ingrid?" Auntie Mare and Papa asked in unison.

"That's her name," I stated, like it was obvious, because to me it was. "Duh."

Papa shook his head. I guess Ingrid isn't a typical name for a hamster. Then again, I don't really think Rex is a typical name for a hamster. All this new information about my mama was skewing my vision of her. I'd thought her a typical burg woman, something akin to Grandma and Auntie Mare, but according to the Lost Boys and, to an extent, Papa she was, something a little short of crazy, with an instinct for finding trouble. She was a bounty hunter. She had very little skill. But she always got her man.

"We're already a half hour late," Papa said, jolting me from my mental analysis. "We best get back on the road. You take... Ingrid..." He shook his head again as if in disbelief. "And go with Mary Lou out to the car. I'll be there in a minute."

I was in the front passenger seat once more with Ingrid on my lap and we were moving at a pace just over the speed limit. No one was telling me where we were going. Something was up. They were keeping secrets from me and I didn't like it. I never had. "Where are we going?" I asked for what felt like the one millionth time. "Where are you taking me? How much longer until we get there? What will happen when we do?"

Auntie Mare and Papa exchanged yet another glance in the rear view mirror and simultaneously shook their heads. I was getting sick of that gesture. It had occurred for most of my life. Every time I asked a question about my mother. Every time I asked a question about Papa's past. Every time I asked a question about anything that Papa didn't want me knowing about.

"Why don't you ever tell me anything?" I almost demanded, but managed to keep it to a disgruntled asking instead. "My whole life you've been forbidding people to tell me about my own heritage. Why? Is it some horrible thing that happened? Are you ashamed of something? Do you just hate me?"

Papa snapped. It was the most horrifying thing I'd ever seen. He went mental. And the worst part was, it was at me. I'd never seen him half as mad as he was now, even at the Lost Boys when they stuffed up. "For fuck's sake Magenta! I've tried to protect you! I've tried to give you a normal life! I've tried! But you don't make it easy! I haven't told you about your mother because there are things about her life that you just wouldn't understand. They would put stupid ideas in your head that you wanted to be just like her and I don't want that for you. I don't. Okay?"

"I-I thought you loved Mama," I whispered uncertainly. "You said you loved her for who she was. You said you loved that she never gave up, that she did what she wanted."

"That doesn't change the fact that her life was dangerous," he said, having simmered down a fair bit. "I can't count the amount of times I found myself fearing for her life. The amount of times I thought she was dead. The amount of times-." He broke off, shaking his head again. "You remind me so much of her. Her tenacity. Her undying belief that everything will work out. Her curls. Her smile. Her eyes. Her-."

"How come no one's ever mentioned my real father?" I asked, interrupting him. "I know you know who he is. You know everything."

"Except that," he uttered so quietly that I almost didn't catch it.

"What?" I demanded incredulously.

"I've never been able to find out who your biological father is."

"Why not?"

"There's no record of Stephanie ever being with anyone during the time that she was away. I've check with all my contacts from the area she was staying in. And there's nothing in the birth records."

I turned to look at Papa. The expression on his face was pained. I could only assume he was telling the truth, he was always blank faced when he was lying or concealing something.

"Sorry, Papa," I apologised. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just get so frustrated not knowing all these details. I mean, it my _life_." Auntie Mare coughed startling us both. I glanced over to find a troubled expression. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"I know why there's no record of your biological father."

_MWA HAHAHA!!! A cliffie, I know. How original of me. Please review. Ideas, suggestions, feedback all welcome._


	22. Bio Dadish

_YES!! I AM STILL ALIVE!!!! I know, I know. How slack of me not to have updated ALL YEAR! (It has been all year right?) I have a tonne of excuses for why and most of them centre around my laptop dying and being shipped out of state to be fixed. It was sent away just after my birthday (which was in late January) and I only got it back like three weeks ago. Now, in all honesty, I probably could have worked on this story or one of my other stories during that time, as my Dad is uber awesome and made sure I had my files backed up to a disc, but it's really hard to get into the writing fram of mind sitting at Dad's stodgey old computer with his word '01 with my sister arguing non stop with Mum about gosh only knows what in the background. So when I got my laptop back I was determined to remedy this situation (spurred on by some recent reviews PLEADING with me to continue), unfortunately for y'all, I'm still a uni student and I've had assignments back to back the past few weeks. That and I had to remind myself of where I was coming from in this piece and where I wanted to go with it and all that jazz. So, without further ado, I give you Chapter 22. It's short and slightly (maybe a little more than slightly) dodgey. It's a bit of a filler to get me back into the mood of this story. Hope it's not too bad for y'all. _

_**Chapter 22**_

_"I know why there's no record of your biological father."_

I stared at her, utterly speechless for a long moment before I managed to push a strangled "Gah?" from my slack jawed mouth. Behind me, Papa seemed just as surprised. He'd launched into a string of Spanish that I couldn't quite catch in my dazed state. "How?" I finally managed a coherent word to voice my thoughts. Well, not all of them, but a lot of them started with either how or why, so it was a start, right?

"Steph told me," Auntie Mare said softly. "She's been confiding in me her whole life. We weren't going to let a silly thing like her moving away get in the way of our friendship."

"Never mind the sap!" Papa suddenly exclaimed, switching back to English, but not losing the rapidness of his speech. "Get to the why there's not record part!"

Chancing a hesitant glance back at the man who had been my father figure for longer than I can remember, I saw the almost crazed look in his eyes and cringed. He always had to be in the know, and when he wasn't it got to him. Clearly, not being in the know about this particular topic for so long and then finding out that the information he'd longed for was right here the entire time was messing with his brain.

Auntie Mare took a deep breath and jumped right into the thick of it. I could tell she was as eager as I was to rid Papa's face of its manic expression. "Well, you see, most women eventually get to a stage in their life where they start to crave... well... They start to crave motherhood, I guess is the simplest way to describe it. It's always under different circumstances. Some find they guy they want to be with for the rest of their lives and get the uncontrollable urge to procreate with that man. Others just long to feel the unconditional love of a child. A child that is their own creation..."

I couldn't believe what she was saying. I hoped I never got urges like that, the thought of having a needy little snot nose clinging to me made me shudder. I looked over and Papa, he was sending 'Get on with it' vibes through his scary eyes which had Auntie Mare stopping and collecting her thoughts to start down a different route.

"Stephanie used a sperm donor," she blurted.

Admittedly, this was probably the best way to tell Papa something, just blurt it out. I'd learned that over the years. It was just too hard to explain things to him. When he wanted information he wanted it NOW, and he wanted it in clear cut, simple terms without fancy-dancy embelli- wait, WHAT DID SHE SAY?

"Huh?" I squeaked.

"SPERM DONOR?!" Papa bellowed.

I vaguely noticed that Auntie Mare had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, but I couldn't focus on anything. My mind was in turmoil. Papa was yelling in Spanish so rapid that I don't think even Speedy Gonzales would have been able to understand him, Auntie Mare was trying to calm the situation down while keeping us on the road. The road started tipping side to side and the scenery out the window seemed to be spinning. I grabbed onto the sissy bar, pressing my feet down on the floor of the car, bracing myself. I was sure we were about to crash. There was a roaring in my ears that I thought must have been the engine, rumbling in a dangerous way. It was all I could do not to clutch my ears.

All of a sudden, everything disappeared. I watched, fascinated, as the road faded away, no longer tipping. The roaring dulled to nothing and slowly, I lost consciousness.

When I came to I was lying along the back seat with my head in Papa's lap. Ingrid was strapped into the front passenger seat and Auntie Mare was still driving. They were having a quiet conversation while Papa sifted his fingers through my no doubt messed up curls, I couldn't quite make out any of it, my hearing was still fuzzy.

"Papa?" I whispered, grabbing his attention immediately. His gaze was the same as always, loving and warm. The kind of gaze a father gives his daughter. In that moment I was both thankful and sad. On the one hand I had not one but two 'fathers' who loved and cared for me very much, would go to the ends of the earth if that was what I needed. On the other, I would probably never know who my biological father was. Even with all this running through my mind, I could only think of one question. "Where are we going?"

"Trenton Post Office, they're holding a package for you. Said it's dated fourteen years ago."

My immediate thought was of Mama, but I quickly squashed the hope that surged along with it. It was probably just a package of baby clothes from a friend of Mama's that got lost before being delivered.

"Who would have sent me a package fourteen years ago?" I asked before I could stop myself. "I was just a baby."

"That's what I was trying to find out all morning. Apparently there's no return address and they were talking as if it just suddenly appeared out of nowhere. When they left last night it wasn't there, but when they came in this morning it was on the top of the pile."

"Bizarre," Auntie Mare muttered.

"Why is Auntie Mare driving? She only got here this afternoon, right? How is she in on this?"

Auntie Mare gave an exasperated sigh. "You make it sound like being around you is a vile thing to be avoided," she cried.

"No I don't..." I said, confused, at the exact same time as Papa uttered, "No she doesn't."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I came all the way here to spend time with my niece, I'm not going to hang around in her Grandparent's living room while she goes to find a mystery package from the past. It's just not how I roll."

She had a point.

_So like... review, yeah? That'd be awesome. I really do need encouragement at the moment. Criticism is welcome to a certain extent. _


	23. Waiting Around

_In the past few days I've been overwhelmed with reviews asking for more ASAP. And I'm happy to oblige... thing is... I don't get why you all seem to be addicted to my writing... Anyway... why waste time on asking questions when I could be letting you get on with reading that which you asked for. Enjoy._

**Chapter 23**

It was only another ten minute drive to the post office after I woke up, this was followed by twenty minutes of standing in line ten minutes of explaining why we were there and waiting for them to retrieve the package and well... so far about half an hour of waiting for Papa to deem the package safe to open. I hadn't even touched it when he snatched it up and lead us both back to the car where Papa proceeded to drive to Rangeman. Once we'd parked he pushed Auntie Mare and I into the elevator (I know! I was shocked too!), and sent us up to our seventh floor apartment where we'd been waiting ever since. Auntie Mare sitting tensely on the lounge in the living area and me pacing a hole in the carpet as I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable let down once I opened the box. My brain was telling me that it was just baby clothes and maybe a rattle with well wishes, my heart was hoping for something that could unlock the mystery of my past. My stomach had tied itself in knots so convoluted I was starting to think I would never be able to work them loose.

"Would you sit down?" Auntie Mare asked, "You're making me nervous."

I couldn't help the harsh laugh that escaped my lungs as I turned to make a return trip toward her. "You're nervous?" I asked. "How do you think I feel? That box that Papa is currently doing gosh only know what to holds stuff that was meant for me when I was a little more than one. Mama was alive back then. This is potentially epic."

Auntie Mare frowned at that. Probably agreeing with my brain in thinking that I was blowing things way out of proportion. I couldn't blame her, I'd had a pretty crap week and this package may not be a crap thing to top it all off. And like I said, I'm aware that I'm getting my own hopes up, but I can't help it. It's in my blood to blow things out of proportion and nurture hope that is most likely going to see me curled in a ball on my bed in tears later. The stories Auntie Mare had told me on the drive had taught me that if nothing else.

"Why is everything 'epic' with kids today?" Auntie Mare finally asked, proving to the contrary of my assumption. "It was an epic party. Something epic is up. That was an epic fail. I just don't get what the fascination is with the word."

"Don't ask me," I uttered, finally managing to collapse into an armchair. "I picked it up from Hal and Cal. None of my friends say it."

"I just don't get ..." she started, but I cut her off.

"No offence, Auntie Mare, but I really don't want to get into youth culture right at the moment. Maybe you should wait until I'm no longer a youth."

"I was going to talk about linguistics, actually," she said. "But I suppose you don't want to talk about that either."

"Not really," I muttered picking up the television remote to see if there was anything good on to take my mind away from the package downstairs. I turned it on, flipped through a few channels then got frustrated and turned back off, plunking the remote back on the coffee table. Making an effort to sit still, I swung my legs over the arm of the chair so I was lounging sideways. It didn't work. I was back up and pacing again before Auntie Mare could think of anything else mundane and useless to talk about.

I was heading to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for each of us when the door burst open and in bounded Tank, Lester, Bobby and Tio Eloy. They were all slightly wild eyed as they scanned the entrance way.

"_There_ you are!" Bobby cried.

"Did we miss it?" Lester asked.

"How dare you run off on us like that!" Tank pretended to admonish.

"So this is where Ricky lives..." Tio Eloy mentioned.

Rolling my eyes, I continued into the kitchen, aware that they all followed me. I grabbed the waters and they all followed my back to the living room. I put the bottles on the table and plonked down into the armchair for another attempt at sitting still and being calm. It wasn't until the men had silently taken their own seats that I noticed Auntie Mare was gone.

Without saying a word to the Merry Men – I gave a mental chuckle at that, my mother's term for them still got me – I made my way through the archway to the rest of the apartment. I checked the bathroom, she wasn't there, nor was she in my room or the linen closet. Dad's home office, which seemed counter intuitive to me, since his work office and place of work were just downstairs, was empty also. As I approached Papa's bedroom I knew she was in there, I could hear her breathing.

She was lying on the bed absently fondling Papa's duvet. Her head was on his pillow and she breathed in deeply. As I watched she pulled down the meticulously neat covers and ran a hand over the sheets beneath. She then leant over the side of the bed, tried to open the top draw of the bedside table, then the second draw, then the cupboard and when none of those opened she leaned further over the side, lifting up the covers and looking under the bed.

"What are you doing?" I asked and then had to stifle a laugh as she fell off the bed landing with a loud thunk on her back, the wind completely knocked out of her. I hurried to help her up, giving into the chuckles burbling up as I slapped her on the back a few times. She was coughing her way back to competent breathing when the Lost Boys tumbled into the room, literally falling over each other, presumably to save me. When they saw us the stopped dead in their tracks, giving me quizzical looks and eyeing Auntie Mare suspiciously.

"What's going on here?" Bobby asked, all business as per usual.

"Nothing," I said, managing to stop my laughter with a deep, cleansing breath. "We were just leaving." A stray giggle burst out. "I was thinking of calling Ella and seeing if she could maybe bake a cake for me – I mean... us. What do you guys think?"

"I spoke to Ella on the way up," Tank informed me. "She's bringing up some dinner for us all in about half an hour. In the mean time, I'm sure there are ingredients for cake in the kitchen, why don't I make one?"

"Hang on just a second here," Auntie Mare interjected with a cough and a groan as she sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to catch her breath. "_I'll_ be making the cake thank you very much. I have hardly been able to do a single thing for my favourite niece since I arrived. This is my territory. You point me to the kitchen and I'll have you a cake in no time."

"Chocolate cake?" I asked.

She nodded. "Any kind of cake you want. I'll whip it up, put it in the oven and it should be ready to eat by the time we're finished with dinner. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like heaven," I sighed, giving her a hug. "Sorry I startled you, Auntie Mare."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, hugging me back briefly before standing and heading out the door. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Half an hour passed fairly quickly, aided by busy work Auntie Mare set for me in the kitchen as she prepared the cake. The four men sat at the bench watching her as if mesmerised by her movements. I have to admit even I got carried away following the graceful egg cracking. Every move she made was so refined it was as if her hands were dancing the cake into existence. It made my own clumsy mixing look like a child of five had possessed my body. She kept encouraging me, saying I was doing good but it didn't help the feeling that I was lacking in motor skills.

Once the cake was baking I immersed myself in my pacing once more, managing to tune out the conversations around me almost completely. I caught the odd word or two here and there but that was it for the next twenty minutes until I heard the front door open and close. I smelled the lovely aromas of Ella's delicious cooking and followed it as it made its way into the dining room, vaguely aware that Auntie Mare and the Lost Boys were hot on my trail.

I helped Ella set the dishes on the table and then went to grab plates and cutlery while Tank grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew and six cups. When I returned to the dining room Ella was just leaving. Before she got too far, I put down what I'd been carrying and grabbed her in a tight hug.

"What's this for Genny?" she asked.

"I just needed to let you know how much I love and appreciate you," I told her softly.

"I already knew."

I gave her another little squeeze. "Yeah, but I need to show you." I let her go and glance back at the table briefly, thinking.

"What's wrong, child?" she asked, tucking a curl behind my ear and stroking my jawline.

"Have you seen Papa?" I finally asked.

"Last I checked he was working like a mad man alongside the lab technicians," she informed me. "I'll go tell him he needs to eat something." And with that, she left.

When I took my seat at the table Auntie Mare placed a plate in front of me already loaded with chicken stir fry. That's when the door opened yet again and I heard Papa's distinct footsteps approaching the dining room.

_Review. Now. That's an order._


	24. Secrets

_I am apologising in advance for reasons that will be apparent by the end of the chapter if you haven't already guessed them by reading this apology. In other news there was some awesome fog outside yesterday on the train ride to uni and it inspired me to write (even though I REALLY wanted to take a picture and send it to my friend who LOVES fog and creepy things, but alas, I had not a camera). So here you go. I gave up my nap time to write this._

**Chapter 24**

It was almost physically painful to sit through dinner making benign conversation as if there wasn't a package for me locked away in Papa's gun safe in his bedroom closet, waiting for me to tear into it's wrapping and discover it's hidden secrets within. I found I couldn't keep track of where the dialogue was coming from and going to anymore than I could maintain the constant plate to mouth momentum. Several times during the course of the meal I was startled from my wayward thoughts as my fork clattered to the table. It was on these occasions that every eye in the room would suddenly snap to me and I would feel my cheeks heat up as I watched Lester across the table subtly wipe sauce from his forehead.

"Sorry," I muttered the last time this happened. A glance around the table informed me that everyone else was already finished and waiting for me to do the same. I pushed my plate away and turned to Papa. "Can I open it yet?" I asked, voicing the question that I was denied when he arrived home.

I had met him at the doorway to the dining room, an undeniably hopeful look in my eyes as I gazed at the package tucked under his arm. His only response when I opened my mouth to ask if I could have it was to shake his head and keep moving down the hall to his bedroom. I followed silently, reluctant to let the small box out of my sight. My heart sank a little lower in my chest as I watched Papa place it on the shelf in his gun safe and lock it up tight. Without even sparing me a second glance he'd started back toward the main area of his bedroom only to stop in the doorway of the closet.

"Someone's been in here," he said. "Someone other than you and the men."

"It was Auntie Mare," I admitted on a sigh I couldn't tamp down.

He turned to face me again and gave me a curious look. "What was Mary Lou doing in my bedroom?" he asked. I shrugged in reply and started out of the closet.

When I arrived back in the dining room, Papa hot on my heels Auntie Mare and the guys looked up at me expectantly. Taking a page out of Papa's book, as I often did, I shook my head before any of them could ask the question I knew they were all thinking and sat at my place at the table. Papa sat beside me and Auntie Mare set a perfectly proportioned plate before him. At this stage I figured we'd all just dig in without a word, as was normally the case when awkward things happen before group meals, but Papa had other plans. He chewed his first mouthful slowly and thoughtfully, eyes wandering between myself and Auntie Mare the entire time. After he swallowed he cleared his throat as if about to make an announcement.

"What were you doing in my bedroom?" he finally enquired of Auntie Mare.

It was like watching a deer as it realised the car was coming right for it. Her eyes grew wide, her every muscle tensed for some kind of impact. After a long pause during which she seemed to be choosing and refining words, she said, "Exploring." Papa raised an eyebrow and I noticed a bead of sweat trickle down her temple. "I... I was curious about your sheets...Steph used to rave about them and I had to find out for myself..."

"Auntie Mare," I interrupted, unable to help myself. "You've been here countless times over the years, surely you've explored Papa's sheets before now?"

"Not really," she replied.

"Oh."

I looked over at Papa. He looked like he had more questions, but I got lost in thought before he could ask them...

"Can I?" I asked again when there was no reply.

He nodded.

I almost missed it.

But I didn't. Quick as I could I cleared the plates, setting them in the sink for later and raced into Papa's closet. Papa came more slowly, taking the time to fix the covers of his bed and remove his gun before entering to open the safe for me. I almost knocked him over trying to get at it; luckily he didn't try to stop me or someone – namely, me – would have gotten hurt.

With the package finally in my hands I felt an odd tingle run down my spine.

"You feel it too," Papa murmured.

I nodded briefly before skipping out and launching myself onto the bed where Auntie Mare and Tio Eloy were already sat waiting. Tank, Lester and Bobby were standing in the doorway, but gathered closer when they saw I had it.

Careful not to tear anything, I began peeling away the brown paper to reveal a small pink box within. My breathing hitched when I noticed my name written in delicate cursive on the top. The slight inconsistency in the letters' sizes and shapes informed me that this had been done by hand. Someone had thought enough of my to carefully write my name on this box. Anxious to find out who loved me that much fourteen years ago, I moved to lift the lid then clenched my hand into a fist when I realised it was shaking.

I paused, took a deep breath and was about to try again when Papa's cell phone rang.

"Talk," he growled as he answered it. "What do you want now?... Of course she's with me, why would I - ... You've got to be joking... We're right in the middle of something here... Look just deal with it, I'll worry about Magenta." He hung up and threw the phone across the room so that it landed in the dirty clothes hamper.

"Was that Dad?" I asked watching his reaction carefully to try to discern what was going on. Tank, Lester and Bobby probably had a full mental transcript of the conversation by now, if not from their super bat-like hearing then from reading his expressions with the utmost accuracy. I sighed mentally with that acknowledgement. All the girls I hung out with at school loved that _Lie to Me_ show. I'd watched it once, shuddering the entire time and found myself sympathising with the unsuspecting subjects of Dr What's-his face's scrutiny. Too many parallels with my own life. Papa and his men always knew when someone was lying to them and they could always draw accurate conclusions from the behaviour a... well, victim presented.

From what I could gather, Papa looked about ready to ignore my question. It had happened more often in my childhood than I like to admit, but I wasn't taking it anymore. I was fifteen now. If something was wrong I had the right to know.

"Papa, I know something is wrong," I informed him. "I'm not deaf."

He met my eyes for a long moment then nodded. "I won't lie to you then. Something is wrong."

I inadvertently made a sound of frustration as I sat up and crossed my arms over my chest. When Papa still didn't elaborate I started to get off the bed, intending to call Dad and find out what was happening straight from the horse's mouth. Surprisingly, no one stopped me. I marched over and dug the phone out of the hamper, punched in the number of Dad's cell and waited while it connected and rang.

As I waited I scrutinised the other people in the room. Papa was staring steadily at me, no emotion whatsoever showing in any part of his body, which cause my stomach to flutter. Tank, Lester and Bobby were exchanging meaningful glances that told me very little, if not nothing. And Auntie Mare and Tio Eloy were gazing around warily, not sure of what to say or do.

Finally, Dad picked up. "Morelli," he said in an almost absent tone.

"Dad?"

"Magenta? What's wrong? Is everything alright? Where's Manoso?"

"I'm okay, Dad," I said softly, recalling simultaneously my memories of a few days ago when I was certain Dad had violated me and everything I had learned the day before about what I thought had been Tank violating me. There was a chance that my mind had created the scenario and overwritten what actually happened.

"Then why are you calling me on his phone?" he asked. "He said you were in the middle of something, it sounded pretty important."

"I know something's wrong. Papa won't tell me what."

"If Papa doesn't want you to know I'm not about to tell you."

An exasperated sigh left. Story of my life. Time to pull out my best. "If you tell me what's going on I will try my hardest to not hate Tiffany."

I had him there. Dad thought Tiffany was the one, which meant that he desperately wanted for Tiffany and I to get along, and that wouldn't happen without both of our co-operation. If I set my mind to not accommodating her, I could potentially end their relationship. OF course I'd feel terrible if that were to happen, but I'd given him the option now, so it was up to him.

"An enemy of Stephanie's has just gotten out of jail and word on the street is he's looking for a little revenge. This may mean not mean anything in particular. It's not necessarily connected to Steph or even you, but I needed to let your Papa know just in case so he could take the proper precautions."

I glared at Papa, attempting to send the mental retort, _See? Why can't you give clear concise information like that?_ "Thank you for being honest."

"Not a problem, Cupcake. Take care ad get back to whatever you were doing before your Papa strangles me over the phone line."

"Wait. Why did you call me Cupcake?" I asked. "You called me it the other day as well, you know... when I..."

"It was the nickname I gave your mother when she wasn't much older than you," he said quickly, covering for the awkwardness that had sprung up with the mention of that day. "I didn't even realise I'd said it that day. And it just kind of slipped out just now. I can make a conscious effort to stop in future if it weirds you out."

"I'd really appreciate that," I said honestly. "I mean, apart from the fact that I'm my own person, the name kind of holds not so great connotations for me."

"Duly noted," he replied. "Now get back to your important stuff."

The way he said it made me smile. It was like when I was five and making mud pies in the back yard. He'd come out to ask what I was doing and I'd replied, _'Making very important pies.'_ I think things are going to be alright between me and Dad. Maybe not right away, but with some work and perseverance I think we could get through this.

"Thanks for not hating me," he added and we both signed off.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please review. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._


	25. What's in the Box

_Tada! An update. A pretty revealing update as far as the mystery box goes. Other than that... probably just more questions I'm afraid. Either way, though, I hope you enjoy reading it as much I like writing it._

**Chapter 25**

I stared at Papa for a moment. Unsure of what to say. I know he was just looking out for me. It just got on my nerves that he didn't think I could handle knowing certain details about my own life. Finally, I just handed him his phone and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

He brushed a curl away from my face and lifted my chin to meet his gaze. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I need to get it through my thick skull that you're not a little girl anymore. You can handle yourself, and you can handle the information that regards your life. I need to learn to trust you as much as you trust yourself." He gave me a warm, reassuring smile.

"Does that mean I'm allowed to use the elevator again?" I asked hopefully.

He just laughed and shook his head, turning me to face the bed and the box that still lay unopened there. "I'll think about it." Then, without even giving me enough time to take a breath, he picked me up and tossed me onto the bed so that I landed, sitting before the pink box. I sent him a grin that was returned immediately and then turned my attention to the box.

My hands hesitated once more on the box as my heart thundered inside my chest. I think if I waited any longer I might die from the stress of it. There was only one thing to do. I had to open the box and get it over with. No matter if I was scared… terrified really. It had to be done. Slowly and carefully, I lifted the pink lid and set it aside. Inside was a folded piece of paper, also pink, though the palest of shades. I took a deep breath and lifted it from the box, unfolding it, and read.

_Maggie,_

_Over the past year I've been overjoyed to watch you grow and develop and though it has brought with it stinky diapers and unexplained crying from both of us (just the crying bit, not the diapers. I'm perfectly capable of excreting in a toilet) I have loved every minute of it. Now, unfortunately, it seems our little adventure must come to an end. _

_Over the past weeks I have been suffering intense headaches, ever increasing in their strength. According to the doctors I have a brain tumour. Inoperable due to its size and placement. I pray every second that they are wrong and that I will not have to give you up so soon, but deep in my heart, I know they must be right. It's just the way my luck seems to go. I never get to keep anything that brings me joy for very long. So, in the case that I do get shuffled off this earthly plain, I have put together a memory box of our time together, starting from when you were first conceived._

_I know you must be looking at this box, in all your teenage attitude, thinking that such a small box can hardly contain all the memories from almost two years of a person's life. And you'd be right. This is not the complete memory box. The rest I have left in the care of a very good friend of mine. You probably have never heard of him, having been raised by well… I haven't decided who will raise you in my absence yet, but I'm sure whoever I eventually choose will not even think to mention my friend. He has a tendency of popping into my life unexpectedly, and if you are reading this, then chances are he'll be visiting you very soon._

_For now though, I've enclosed a few things from the day you were born._

_I'll always love you, no matter what_

_Mommy._

I couldn't take my eyes off that last word. _Mommy_. I'd never really said the word. Never had a reason to call anyone mommy. But I had had a mommy. And she'd loved me very much. I looked up at Papa, tears welling in my eyes, and smiled. "It's from Mama," I told him, gazing into his concerned face. I glanced back down at the letter in my hands and corrected myself. "It's from Mommy," I said, testing out the name. And then, without warning, the floodgates broke and tears streamed down my face.

Papa was there in an instant, pushing aside Tio Eloy and Auntie Mare to enclose me in his strong arms. Brushing his big palms over my hair as he held me impossibly close to his chest. When the tears stopped, he didn't let me go, just held me a little looser. When I finally moved my head away from his shoulder and looked into his eyes again, I was smiling.

"Can I see it?" Papa asked gently, smiling back down at me again. I nodded and held the letter out for him. I watched him as he read it, slightly frustrated anew that I could not read his expression with as much accuracy as his men.

Once he was done, he handed it back to me without a word. I took it, and reread the part about the friend before meeting his steady gaze. He seemed to be waiting for something. Finally I asked, "If I ask you, will you answer honestly and in full?"

His lips quirked up at the corner. "His name is Diesel. Just Diesel. And when she says popped, she means it quite literally."

"You knew him?" I asked, unable to stop myself. "Why didn't you mention him before? He could know something about my biological father." He gave me a look that was very confusing in it's purpose, somewhere between a grimace and a shrug. But he said nothing. "What? What haven't you told me?"

It was Tank who answered my question. As always. "None of us really thought there was anything there. We didn't even know she liked him at all. He popped in now and then, wreaked havoc on the town and was gone before anything could be pinned to him. I suppose we didn't even entertain the thought that he could have helped Steph when she left."

"Can we discuss this later?" Auntie Mare interrupted. "I wanna read the note."

I shrugged and handed her the pink paper, turning my attention back to the box. Brushing aside the light purple tissue paper that concealed the rest of the contents, I took a deep steadying breath, drawing strength from Papa, who's lap I was still sitting in. Opening my eyes, I scooped up the first item, a tiny pink onsie with a purple flower on the front. I held it up for everyone to see and Auntie Mare and Tio Eloy made 'aww' noises. I held it to my face, wondering if the scent that clung to it was the scent of my mother. It made me smile to finally have this link to my mother. The link that I had been denied for so long.

"Does it smell like her?" I asked Papa, passing the item back to him. He seemed to be battling with emotions as he held it, but the moment I realised the battle was there, it was gone. He held it to his own face and took a hefty sniff, nothing like the elegant scenting I had done. Then he met my eyes, held them for a moment and simply nodded. This is what my mama smelled like.

As Papa passed the onsie around the circle that had now formed on his bed (and I wondered how one bed could support so much bulk) I picked up the next item. A tiny hospital bracelet with my name and mama's name on it. I looped it around my finger, marvelling at how small it was and then spotted another bracelet in the box. It was Mama's. I looped it around my own wrist and my breath caught when I realised it fit perfectly. I held the baby bracelet next to it for a moment, admiring them in all their plastic glory, before passing them to Papa to see. It continued the same way. I pulled each item from the box marvelled at it, then passed it back to Papa, who passed it on to Auntie Mare and continued around the circle.

Then I found the note in the bottom. Mama had written it just a few hours after I was born.

_My Dearest Little Magenta,_

_I've only known you a short time. A few hours at the most, but you've already stolen my heart and my breath away from me. The first time I held your tiny body in my arms I cried with you. You're so beautiful, don't let anybody try to tell you otherwise._

_I'm sitting here in bed imagining all the teenage boys I'll have to interrogate. All the hateful snobs I'll have to give what for's and all the pretty dresses I'll want to buy for you even though you just want to climb trees. I know. It was the same with my mother and me. I was jumping off the garage roof trying to fly while she was out buying frilly dresses I would never wear. But I won't force you into anything you don't want to do. I promise. I don't want you to hate me that same way I thought I hated my mother._

_Speaking of Grandma, she'd just adore you to bits. I can't wait to show you off. _

_You are my pride and joy. Of all the things I have done in this lifetime, you make me the happiest._

_Love and Kisses through eternity,_

_Mommy._

I read the note several times before even looking up from the paper. With each pass over the words I felt the connection between myself and Mama strengthen. Suddenly my mother wasn't just some abstract ideal everyone told me about and insisted I should love (a bit like Jesus that way), she was becoming a fully fledged person. One I had spent time with. One whom had cared for me for nearly two years of my life. One whom I know loved me. One that still does love me. No matter what.

Finally, I passed that note, too, around the circle. I looked over at Auntie Mare, who was bawling her eyes out, blubbering about cuteness and love and other such things. The guys were also looking a bit emotional, not that they would ever admit it, I'd have to hijack the security feed to prove it. Last of all, I turned all the way around in Papa's lap and looked into his face. It was completely void of any emotion or expression. It was practically his punishment face. The only thing cluing me in to the fact that I wasn't going to be punished was that I hadn't done a single thing.

I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but instead of words, a yawn leaked out. Not the mild kind that you can hide and even manage to talk through. This yawn was the mother of all yawns.

Papa tucked my head into his shoulder a little gruffly, and spoke to the room at large. "It's getting late. Magenta needs to get some sleep, it's been a very emotional day for all of us. I suggest you all head to bed as well. Mary-Lou you can use one of the spare apartments. Tank will show you the way. I've already spoken to Ella, it should be made up."

A moment of silent stillness followed his statement which soon turned into a flurry of movement. No one wanted to disobey Papa. Then, before I knew it, we were alone. On the bed. With my baby things spread out before us. And Papa had pulled me into the tightest hug in the all history of tightest hugs.

"Papa?" I asked, but there was no reply. I tried again, "Papa?" Still nothing. His face was buried in my hair.

Finally he simply whispered, "Time for bed."

I wanted to argue. Wanted him to tell me what had gotten to him like nothing else ever had. Wanted to know his thoughts on the memory box. I wanted to sit on his bed with him for hours and just talk. Talk. Talk about all the things we'd never talked about before. But I yawned again and he laid me down on one side of the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin like he used to when I allowed him to tuck me in, carefully packed away the items into the box and climbed in on his own side. I was asleep before he'd even settled.

_One. Two. You know what to do. (I'll stop there before I start singing a totally unrelated song by Aussie comedy trio Tripod). REVIEW!_


	26. The Morning After

_Thanks once again for some great reviews. I always take your opinions and suggestions into account when plotting ideas for the coming chapters (Yes, that's right, half the time I'm as clueless about what's going to happen as you are). Anyway here's the latest chapter. Brought to you by mental hyperactivity and study avoidance. Also, check out "Rangeman Rules and Regulations" by Shreek. I helped with it's creation. (She's my bestie! *dances*)_**__******

**Chapter 26**

Papa was in the bathroom with the shower going. He'd been in there a while. Longer than was normal for him. The shower had been running when I awoke ten minutes ago and was still going when I finally decided to push the covers back and get out of bed. I paused on my way past the bathroom door, contemplating knocking to see if he was alright, but it didn't seem right to do so. This was his private bathroom. I had no real right to invade his bathroom time. Instead, I decided to go see about fixing some breakfast.

I was flipping pancakes like a pro while head banging to my _Nightmare Revisited _CD when Papa entered the kitchen, hair still damp from his shower, dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt. No work today then. I flipped a pancake onto the waiting plate and smiled at him. His eyes widened and he quickly removed the pan from my hand and set me far away from the stove top. Once he had the burner turned off and everything squared away he turned my music off and turned to face me. There was a slightly wild look in his eyes that scared me more than the blankest of expressions ever could.

"What were you thinking?" he asked. And for him, even though he spoke in a normal tone of voice, it was like he was yelling at me.

A moment passed before I fully comprehended what had just gone down. Was he really telling me off for cooking pancakes? It was the only logical explanation. I shrugged hopelessly. "I was thinking I was hungry and could really go for some pancakes."

"You could have killed us all!" he pseudo-exclaimed. "You know your record with cooking."

"Yes, Papa, I do," I said calmly. "I got an A in home economics. I've been baking cookies with Ella since I was seven. I don't understand where this is coming from."

Papa shook his head and turned away. Something was eating at him. He ran a hand through his loose hair and paced back and forth for a moment. I didn't want to interrupt in case he went off at me for my apparently deplorable cooking record again. Finally he dropped his hands to his side and took a deep, shoulder heaving breath. This was the most real I'd ever seen him. I was finding it hard to remember that this was my Papa, the ex-mil, emotionless, in control boss man. He turned to face me again and his face looked like a broken dish someone had tried to tape back together. I had no idea who this man was.

"I'm sorry," he murmured handing me the pan, and turning the burner back on. He guided me over to the stove top and placed the jug of pancake mix in my other hand. "Please. Continue. I'll be back in a moment." Before I could say or do anything, Papa was out of the room, leaving me with a million questions and no one to answer them.

Mechanically, I returned to making pancakes. Without my previous vigour and zest the act was joyless. I thought about putting my music back on, but it just seemed wrong. By the time Papa came back I'd finished making the pancakes, chopped some strawberries, sprayed some whipped cream into a bowl and set it all on the table with an easy-squeeze bottle of maple syrup. We sat down silently and began to eat without exchanging a word. I'd consumed three tasteless mouthfuls when I'd had enough of the silence.

"What the hell just happened, Papa?" I asked, setting my cutlery aside.

He mirrored my action and placed his elbows on the table. "I wasn't thinking," he admitted. "I spent the entire night inside my memory, thinking about your Mama. I guess for a moment I'd forgotten that she was… gone."

"You thought I was her?" I asked with a shudder. Everything that had happened in the past week rushed to the forefront of my brain. Things just kept getting weirder. Dad doing something that somehow made me think he'd molested me. Tank doing something similar. Finding the package. And now Papa's reaction to me cooking. I watched Papa's face as he formulated his reply. He seemed reluctant from what I could tell. "You can tell me," I assured him. "I won't get mad, or go spastic or anything. I just want to know the truth."

Finally, he nodded, a simple incline of his head, and took a breath. "I did think you were her for a moment. It was like déjà vu. The loud music. The uncoordinated dancing." He gave me a small smile, letting me know he was joking with me.

"It's called head banging, Papa. It's an art form."

"So is holding a steady job," he replied. "You're Mama was a disaster in the kitchen. She gave me food poisoning on more than one occasion and once blew up Ella's stove oven while trying to learn how to cook. I insisted that there was no need for her to continue such a dangerous activity, but –."

"Wait," I interrupted, holding up my hand. "Wait just one cotton pickin' minute. You told Mama that cooking was too dangerous for her, but you were perfectly okay with her roaming the streets looking for convicted criminal every day?"

"The woman had incredible instincts when it came to bounty hunting. Unfortunately, those instinct did not transfer into domestic ability. She tortured herself and those around her with her cooking attempts for months before finally giving up."

"Why was she trying to learn how to cook?" I asked, anxious to keep the easy flow of information going. This was the most open he'd ever been about Mama.

"She wanted to please Morelli. She wanted to please her mother. She wanted to please everyone."

"How would being able to cook please anyone?"

Papa sighed and forked some pancake into his mouth. "Eat your pancakes," he told me. I crossed my arms defiantly over my chest and stared him right in the eyes. Silently broadcasting my displeasure with his response. As a result he chuckled and shook his head. "I promise I'll continue. I'll answer any question I'm able to. But you need to eat."

I pursed my lips for a moment, contemplating, then thrust out my left hand, pinkie extended. "Pinkie swear?" He looked at it suspiciously before linking his own pinkie into it with a smile. When he set back to eating I repeated my question. "How would being able to cook please anyone?"

"Morelli was always on her case about being more domestic. Rolling in less garbage. Spending more time in the kitchen. That kind of thing. Her mother was always on her case about not being married and popping out grandbabies for her. In her eyes food was the key to a man's affections and the reason Stephanie couldn't get a man to propose to her was because she couldn't cook. It was also apparently the reason her first marriage failed."

"Mama was married?" I asked around a mouthful of strawberry.

"For about fifteen minutes. Until she caught him on the dining room table with another woman."

An involuntary gag clutched at my throat and I almost spat my food at him. "PAPA!" I exclaimed. "I'm trying to eat!"

"You asked."

"I didn't think you'd give me details!"

He was grinning now. "I didn't give you details. I gave you one fact in full. If you like I could give you details."

"No thank you," I choked. "The last thing I need right now is to know what position some sleaze was in when he befouled my mother's marriage vows."

"If you insist. I assume you have another follow up question?"

"Of course." I shoved another bite of pancake into my mouth. "So, mama thought that by finally learning how to cook she would gain a fiancé and eventual husband and thereby approval from Grandma?"

"That's not a follow up question, but yes."

I nodded, chewing, and slurped down some juice. "Tell me more about these cooking disasters."

At midday, the there was a knock on the outer door to the apartment, startling both Papa and I from our discussion of Mama. We'd been sitting on a pile of couch cushions on the floor where Papa had been showing me old photos of Mama and answering question after question after question. I'm sure I was frustrating him, but he didn't show it at all.

The knock sounded again and Papa was instantly on his feet, shoving his gun into the waistband of his jeans and stalking to the door. I thought it a ridiculous notion, since anyone who managed to get to the seventh floor had probably already come to the attention of several men, but hey, to each his own. I mean, my mother kept her gun in a cookie jar, unloaded and everything. Who am I to judge?

While Papa answered the door I continued flipping through snap shots and still frames of my mother, each one more revealing of her character than the last. All the while I was aware of Papa speaking in the entrance way with an unfamiliar male voice, then, just I'd reached a picture of Mama standing in the parking garage with a horse, both of them covered in soap suds, there was a loud THUNK in the hall.

_Another chapter, another cliffie... I think I may be addicted... Should I go to rehab?_


	27. On the Doorstep

_Now, I don't want any of you to keel over in shock or to have a heart attack or anything, but this here is an update. I know, it took me a while. And I'd like to mention that my father's computer still irks me (my laptop is once again dead *sigh* I think it's doomed, but I can't afford a new one.) So anyway, read away._

**Chapter 27**

I was on my feet and rushing into the hall before I'd even thought about it. There in the doorway was a well built man with dishevelled looking blonde hair, torn and faded jeans and a t-shirt that looked completely stretched out of shape. Papa was standing between me and him, hands on hips. By the fact that Papa's gun was still in his jeans, I judged that this man was not a threat. As I approached, the man cut his eyes to me and his face broke into a full on grin. I almost swooned at the sight of his dimples, but caught myself. He had to be at least thirty, liking him would be gross.

"Papa?" I asked tentatively. "Is everything alright?"

The man turned his gaze to Papa in shock. "_This_ is Magenta?" He looked at me again. "_You're _Magenta?"

"Yes," I said quietly. "I'm Magenta." Then placed my hand on Papa's arm. "Papa, is everything alright? I heard a thunk."

As I looked closer at Papa I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, he was suppressing something.

"What was the thunk, Papa?" I asked again, practically ignoring the man's presence for the time being. Papa didn't answer. The man did, though.

"Oh, that was my bad. There was a problem with transit. The box appeared in mid air." He gestured to the large box as an afterthought. Looking me up and down once more, his gaze snagged on my hand, still holding the photos.

"Appeared in mid air?" I asked, confused.

Instead of explain, he asked a question of his own. "What have you got there?" Before I could answer, he'd taken them from me and was shuffling through them. He laughed at a few of them, sighed at a few more and smiled the entire time. I, on the other hand, was just staring at the stranger who had the gall to snatch the photos of my mother out of my hand.

My mouth must have been hanging open because I suddenly felt Papa's hand pushing my jaw up. I glanced at him when his phone rang then turned my attention back to the man. He was laughing again.

"See this one?" he asked me, indicating the one that had been on the top of the pile. Mama and the horse. "That was probably the best adventure ever."

"Washing down a horse?" I asked, forgetting that I had been glaring at him a moment ago. "How is that the best adventure ever?"

He snorted. "Not washing down a horse. What do you take me for? A stable hand?" I looked over his worn jeans and hideous t-shirt then back to his face with a raised eye brow. "Yeah, alright, smart ass," he said, as if replying to something I had said. "Don't answer that question."

"Wait," I said suddenly. Not even thinking before I opened my mouth, not that it was an uncommon thing. "You're Diesel."

"Very good," he said, patting me on the head. "You've been doing your homework. You get a gold star." I rolled my eyes at him, opening my mouth to make a retort, but he cut in over top of me. "Well, now I definitely know I'm in the right place. I'd recognise that eye roll a mile away. You know, you had just about mastered it when I last saw you." He ruffled my hair. "Some things just stick, don't they?"

And then he was gone.

I turned to Papa, a stunned expression on my face. His was professionally blank as he shut the phone and slid it back into his pocket. "Where-?"I started but Papa held up a hand.

"Wait a moment," he said, sounding both bored and exasperated at the same time. "He'll be back."

"But how-." I tried again, but before I could get any further Diesel appeared. "How did you -." I was startled out of my question this time as loud BANG sounded behind me. Papa was in defence moment in the blink of an eye. No. Faster than that. In half the time it takes a person to blink, I was thrust behind Papa on the floor as he crouched down and whipped his gun out, pointing it in the direction noise.

Diesel, completely unconcerned, strolled past us carrying the box he'd mentioned earlier and heading in the direction of the living room. "Grab, the other one, would ya, Ranger?" he called over his shoulder.

Anxiously, I peered around Papa's shoulder and noted a second box sitting in the hall. It hadn't been there before. Things were getting weird. And I mean, weird in a Harry-Potter-type sense, not a I-have-two-male-guardians-and-live-in-a-building-devoted-to-security sense. I was totally used to the latter. It was my normal. Papa helped me up and pushed me gently in the direction Diesel had just gone. "Go," he murmured. "I'm right behind you."

I hurried after the mysterious man, sprouting the questions that popped into my mind. "How did you do that? Where did the boxes come from? Did they really appear in mid air? You knew my mama, right? Did she know you could do this stuff? Are you a superhero? Can you fly? Papa says mama always wanted to fly. Do you have x-ray vision?" I gasped at that thought and wrapped my arms around myself to cover up my private areas. "You can't see through my clothes can you?"

He set the box on the floor next to the mound of couch cushions Papa and I had constructed and indicated for Papa to put the other one next to it. Papa did so without comment, but I noticed he seemed to be gritting his teeth.

"You better hadn't be perving on me," I continued after a short breath. "I'm pretty sure Papa and the Lost Boys wouldn't like it if they knew you could see through my clothes."

"Relax kid. I can't answer questions if you keep shooting new ones at me." He turned to Papa and asked. "Is she always like this?" Papa just glared at him. Guess he wasn't in a talking mood at the moment. "Okaaay," he intoned, turning back to me. "You wanna run a few of those questions by me a gain in slow-mo so I can catch them and answer?" With a quick glance at my arms still wrapped around me, he added, "No, I don't have x-ray vision."

"You knew my mama?" I asked. It was the most urgent question on my mind. I had to make sure he was the real thing.

"Yep. Hell of a woman, she was."

A sigh escaped me. "I've heard that line so many times it's starting to lose all meaning. Why can't anyone think of something original to say? Like perhaps telling me HOW you know my mother? Is that too much to ask? Probably. I mean, it's not like anything else is ever straight forward, so why should this be?"

Diesel made bored hand gesture. "Got another question I can answer?"

I thought for a moment. I had a million questions to ask. Some of them about him. Some about Mama. Some about him and Mama. And, as silly as it may sound, some about me. Diesel plonked onto a couple of the cushions and motioned for Papa and I to follow suit. I was beginning to worry that Papa was acting to rigid. He'd been perfectly relaxed all afternoon and now it was as if he was on duty. I knew the posture. He didn't want to let his guard down. It was like whenever there was a threat on the Rangeman building. He would relax even the slightest. Not even when I was little and trying, desperately, to cheer him up, because I thought he was sad. Thought I'd done something to upset him.

For a few moments I just stood there looking between the two men. Unsure of what to do. Diesel seemed friendly enough to me, but Papa's reaction had me nervous. I met his steady gaze for a moment. "Could you excuse us for a moment, please?" I asked Diesel. "We'll be right back."

I dragged Papa down the hall on the other side of the living room to his bedroom. Once I'd closed the door behind us I faced Papa and put my hands on my hips.

"Spill it," I demanded. "What's the matter? Is he dangerous? Why don't you trust him?"

He sighed. "He's not dangerous. He's one of the good guys."

I mulled this over a moment. "He does bounty hunter work? Like Mama? Is that how they met?"

"Something like that."

"So what's wrong? Why are you so hostile toward him?" Papa paced to the bedside table, then back to me, then back to the table. "Papa, please. Let me in."

Another sigh whooshed out. "Jealousy," he gritted out. He wasn't looking at me. He was facing the other side of the room, and his head was bowed. "He's had access to a wealth of information about the first years of your life as well as the time we couldn't find Steph all these years and never once bothered to share any of it with anyone. Not even you."

"But he's sharing now," I pointed out. "We can't turn him away, or we may never know the things he knows. Mama wanted things the way they are for a reason. Can we honour her wishes? Please, Papa? Can you be pleasant for Mama?"

Papa turned around slowly and took my face in his hands. "I've been pleasant for your mother since the day I found out about you. I've always been pleasant for her. Now, I'm being pleasant for you."

I swallowed back the limp in my throat. "So you'll come sit with us?" I had no doubt he would. He may have been on the defence with Diesel, but he would have stayed anyway. Curiosity was a tangible thing in this apartment recently.

"Of course, Genny-Babe. I'd do anything for you and your Mama. Never forget that."

We returned to the living room to find Diesel still sitting on the cushions he'd claimed, leaning back against the back of the couch with two small piles of cushions set out for Papa and I. The bigger of the two boxes was in the centre of the small triangle the cushions formed. Without hesitation I plonked down on one of the piles. A moment later, Papa was also sitting on the floor, his legs crossed Indian style

Diesel looked from me to Papa and back, as if expecting someone to say something. To tell the truth, I expected Papa to say something as well, but he was silent. When the silence stretched on a few moments more, Diesel said, "Right. Questions. You got any?"

I didn't even have to think. My mouth shot off like a rocket of its own accord. "How did you meet Mama?"

"Well," he began, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. He then launched into a story about Mama and a lack of Christmas spirit. Every detail was more encapsulating than the last. It painted a picture of the woman my mother was. How she interacted with others and how others interacted with her. It was something I had seen glimpses of through the stories the guys had told me, but there was just something about the way Diesel explained it that had me _really _forming my mother's character in my mind. Imagining what she would have been like as a mother with the history she shared with all these people.

As he continued to talk, I threw more questions at him and slowly the story of their first meeting morphed into a succinct history of Stephanie Plum and Diesel.

"I didn't hear from her for about a year after that. There were no more missions for me in the Trenton area, and I was so busy following up false lead after false lead after false lead, that I didn't even think about it. Until she called me."

* * *

_I'd like to employ a bit of audience participation now, because I have several options swimming around in my head at the moment and I don't know which to choose. _

_So first of all, in regards to Steph:_

_**A **Mare is really Steph in disguise._

_**B **Diesel can arrange for Magenta to have a small amount of time with Steph in an alternate dimension_

_**C **Mare is Mare. Steph is dead. Everyone stays the way they are just like normal life should be._

_**D **When Steph died she was turned into an unmentionable. She's been made to keep a low profile over they years and she doesn't even really remember her old life._

_And then, in regards to Magenta's Biological Father:_

_**1 **Ranger is the father_

_**2 **Diesel is the father_

_**3** Neither Ranger nor Diesel is the father_

_SO GO VOTE! I NEED A LETTER AND A NUMBER! I'll also welcome any other thoughts you may have._

PS I was originally going to just give you the letters and numbers to choose from without you knowing what they were, but Shreek convinced me that that was too mean.


	28. Out of the Box

_Omigord. Tissue alert. Seriously. I pride myself on not being an emotional person. At least not when it comes to sad things. But wow. I had tears in my eyes writing parts of this chapter! You'll notice it's longer too. That's because once I started I couldn't stop. I hope you all like it. And thanks for you feed back from last chapter._

**Chapter 28**

"What happened when Mama called you?" I asked, completely wrapped up in his story. It had been hours since he turned up and every minute had been filled with a wealth of information about my mother and her life. I had gleaned a few tidbits of information about Diesel himself as well. He was a kind of fugitive apprehension agent, like mama, but apparently a special kind, because he had special "gifts". I hadn't yet managed to figure out what these special gifts were, but there was still much more of Mama's life he had to tell me about, so there was time for more detective work in regards to that. For now though, I wanted to hear about the portion of Mama's life no one else had been able to tell me about.

Diesel picked up his bottle of water from the floor beside him and took a sip before answering my question. I was sprawled across most of the couch cushions, still scattered on the floor, with my head on Papa's lap. Papa was leaning against the back of the couch, absently curling and uncurling my hair around his fingers. Diesel was positioned across from us, his arm propped on his one raised knee.

He took too long getting to his answer, so I asked another question. "Was that when she left Trenton? Was she asking for help? Did you help her?" Okay, so it was more like a few questions, but hey.

"Yes. Yes. Yes," he said simply.

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Details!" I demanded, waving my hand around above my head and almost hitting Papa in the face before he grabbed it and forced it back down.

"I'm getting there," Diesel told me. Shaking his head with a grin. "How do you expect me to tell you want you want to hear when you keep interrupting with questions that I have to answer or your Papa glares at me?"

I felt Papa stiffen and craned my neck to look back at him. He was glaring at Diesel, so I guessed that Diesel had been telling the truth.

Papa glanced down at me when he felt my eyes on him and explained, "I wanted to make sure you got all the answers you wanted, ." Then he brushed the hair out of my face and gave me his secret smile and I returned my gaze to the man. "Continue," Papa prompted him.

"She called me one night in a flat spin," he explained. "Told me she'd packed all her stuff into her car and just driven away and that she now had no idea what to do." He shook his head with a slight smile. "I told her she could stay with me for as long as she wanted, gave her directions and the next day she was on my doorstep. Rex the hamster in his cage and hoisted up on her hip and a suitcase at her feet. In that first moment I wasn't sure what to do myself. Sure, I'd told her to come, but I hadn't actually expected her to. She's such an independent woman that I thought she'd go to a hotel or something and make it on her own. But there she was. Standing there. On my doorstep. "

"What did you do?" Papa asked. Startling both me and Diesel if the slight widening of his eyes was anything to go by. Papa hadn't really been a participant in the conversation up until now. He'd just been silently observing, as per usual.

"I dragged her suitcase up to the guest room, go her settled and let her know that she could stay as long as she liked. When my wife got home I introduced them both and that was pretty much the end of my involvement in the making her comfortable. They got on like a house on fire. Quite literally at times. " He chuckled.

"You let her in the kitchen, didn't you?" Papa asked, chuckling a little himself. It was good to see he was finally relaxing.

"Yeah. After Steph explained that her cooking skills were non-existent Janelle insisted she could teach her. Needless to say, the first few attempts were disastrous, ending in fire extinguishers and take-out, but over time she got better."

I looked up at Papa again. "She learned how to cook," I told him. "Grandma would have been proud." He nodded his agreement and tugged on a curl.

"Once she'd mastered the art of not burning food she decided it was time for her to find her own place," Diesel continued.

"Was she working at the time?" Papa asked.

Diesel nodded. "Part time reception work at a medical centre. So Steph moved into a small apartment in the next suburb over. Far enough away that she felt like she had her independence back, yet close enough that she could still see Janelle three to four times a week. Things progressed normally for a few weeks. Then I came home one night to find Janelle and Steph deep in discussion at the kitchen table. There were magazine and website printouts scattered around, as well as hand written notes and a few pens. They refused to tell me what they were up to, so I grabbed a bottle of water and went to my office." He paused to take another drink of water, like the mention of it reminded him he was thirsty and I once again grew impatient.

"What were they talking about?" I prompted. "Stop drinking and tell me. Papa, confiscate his water and make him keep talking." In response, Papa simply laid a hand on my shoulder and Diesel put his water down.

"Impatient much?" he asked. "I didn't find out what they'd been talking about until a week later. I'd decided to accompany Janelle on her weekly shopping trip. Nothing spectacular, just wandering through the local mall looking for bargain, usually. Janelle loves a good bargain. We'd been wandering for a couple of hours when we came across a store that sold nothing but baby stuff. Horribly cute. I balked when she stopped abruptly and insisted we go inside. My mind was going a million miles a minute, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why she would all of a sudden want to look at baby things. Finally, I gave up and asked her. That's when I found out that Steph had decided to have a baby. The night I'd walked in on them talking, they'd been picking a sperm donor."

He paused then and simply studied my reaction. "You knew it was sperm donor?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

I nodded. "Auntie Mare told us."

"I wasn't expecting Ranger to know," he admitted, ignoring Papa's presence and talking solely to me now. "Let alone you. I wasn't aware Steph had told anyone else." He shrugged then. "So she went through the pregnancy thing and Janelle gloried in being able to buy little baby things for her and with her."

Finally, he reached for one of the boxes he'd brought. They'd been sitting there all afternoon, taunting me with their presence. I had to know what was in there.

He opened it up, pulled out a photo album and passed it to me. I immediately sat up and placed it on my lap, flicking it open. The first page was a photo of Mama in a baggy Van Halen t-shirt and cut off sweat pants laughing as a woma – also laughing – pointed a turkey baste at her. I turned a page and there was a picture of my mother's flat stomach. _Week 1_, the caption read. _No sign of change =P._ Opposite that picture was Mama and the woman, I assumed was Janelle, holding a pose that made me laugh because it was something I could envision Meli and I doing. Steph was side on, thrusting her flat stomach out so that it looked bigger and Janelle was pointing at it with a surprised caption read: _I better hadn't spontaneously combust._ The next page was another picture of Mama's flat stomach. I looked across and there was a picture of mama holding a positive pregnancy test, grinning from ear to ear. The caption went across the bottom of both pages in capital letters. _We survived the Two Week Wait!_

"You have her smile," Diesel informed me. I glanced up at him. "You're doing it right now," he added and handed me a hand mirror with a smirk. I looked at myself then back at the photo and gasped when I realised he was right. It wasn't that I'd never seen my mother's smile before. I'd seen it plenty of times. I just never thought to compare hers to mine.

I grinned wider and set the mirror aside as I returned to looking through the album. Each week Mama had taken a photo of her stomach whether it had changed or not and then beside it was a silly photo. Usually with Janelle.

I noticed after a short time that the same Van Halen t-shirt kept reappearing. Just when I opened my mouth to point it out to Papa, Diesel pulled something else out of the box, distracting me. My gaze locked on the faded black fabric and my first thought was _No. Way._ With a flourish, Diesel unfolded it to reveal THE Van Halen t-shirt.

"No way," I said allowed. "It's not. It can't be…. _Is_ it?"

"It is."

"That's Mama's t-shirt?"

He nodded and tossed it at me. I snatched it out of the air and held it to my face, imagining Mama in it, her belly bulging, stretching the t-shirt to its limits. I smiled and after a moment, laid the t-shirt across my lap, returning to the album. When I reached the last pages I found not a picture of Mama's rounded belly, but a picture of mama, sitting in a hospital bed, cradling a small pink blanket wrapped bundle. I laughed when I recognised the t-shirt. On the opposite page there was a picture of mama and me, my face was contorted weirdly and mama was imitating it. _One day old and already knows the ways of the Plums: When in doubt, pull a weird face._

The next album Diesel handed me was much larger full of pictures of me in hundreds of different outfits. Each time I turned the page, Diesel would pull the outfit in the photo out and place it on the pile between us. I marvelled over how small they were. Papa picked them up and looked at them curiously. I think he was speculating what I would look like if I wore something like that now. The simple truth of the matter was, I wouldn't. It simply wouldn't happen. They were to girly and cutesy. Don't get me wrong. I had nothing against pink, but there was a limit to the amount of cute I would allow to adorn my body these days.

There was another album full of candid photos of Mama and baby me. As I worked my way through it, Diesel pulled more items from the boxes and added them to the pile in the middle. The first box was empty and the second box was half way to being the same when Diesel picked up his story again.

"When you were about ten months old," he began, "Steph started suffering intense migraines. Sporadic at first, but as time went by they became more and more frequent. It took both Janelle and I a month to convince her to see a doctor. She went to her GP, whom I am convinced got his PhD from a cereal box, and was prescribed pain killers. A week later, I dragged Steph to a friend of mine."

"A doctor friend?" I asked. There was a barely noticeable pause before he answered in the affirmative, but I was becoming an expert on barely noticeable. I'd grown up with an entire building of barely noticeable. "The whole truth please?"

"He's not the conventional kind of doctor. More of a healer. Anyway, he diagnosed the brain tumour that had been causing her pain. He predicted she had about a year. She lasted six months."

Tears slid down my cheeks. I felt stupid for it. I knew how the story ended and it still managed to choke me up. I had all this evidence of the life I'd had with mama, and now it was like she'd just been taken away from me again. I knew I'd spent time with her, but the knowledge that I never could again filled me with a grief I was unable to control.

Papa gathered me against his chest and held me tight for a long while as I cried. I kept thinking it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that I would never get to see my mother again. That she would never hold me in her arms again. Never whisper that she loved me as she kissed me good night. I'd never go shopping with her to buy my prom dress. She could never share her dating blunders with me to cheer me up after a boy dumped me. I'd never be able to tell her how much I was grateful for everything she did for me.

Ages past and I eventually dried my eyes on the hem of my t-shirt and stood. "I'm gonna go fix something for dinner," I told Papa, then turned to Diesel. "I'd like it if you stayed, but I understand if you have to get back to your wife."

"I'll stay," he informed me with a grin, and added, "I haven't had a chance to snoop around yet."

I laughed a little at that. "Papa, do you wanna call the guys, Tio Eloy and Auntie Mare and see if they wanna join us?"

Ranger's POV

I watched Magenta make her way into the kitchen, hoping she was alright. She'd completely broken down at the end of Diesel's story. I don't think I'd ever seen her so broken.

When she was no longer in sight I pulled out my cell phone and called down to the comm. room. Bobby answered on the secong ring and after a short conversation confirmed that he, Lester and Tank would be joining us soon. I called Mary-Lou next and apparently caught her as she was about to call for take-out. She informed me that she would be up in ten seconds and then promptly hung up on me.

Eloy answered the phone with his customary, "I don't know what you're blaming for, but I didn't do it."

I sighed. "I'm not blaming you for anything. I'm inviting you to dinner. Genny's cooking. She wanted to know if you'd join us."

"Is that safe?" he asked. "I've heard stories about _Steph's_ cooking abilities. Surely that kind of thing is genetic."

"You'll be fine," I promised. "Now get up here."

With the phone calls done, I wandered into the kitchen. Genny was a flurry of activity, seemingly everywhere at once. Diesel was positioned at the bench, peeling carrots with a bemused expression on his face.

"Can I borrow Diesel for a moment," I asked my daughter. She barely looked up from the bowl meat she was tenderising, and grunted a 'sure'. I dragged Diesel down the hall to the opposite corner of the house, set my face to blank interrogation and crossed my arms over my chest. "You lied," I said. No point beating about the bush.

"I didn't lie," Diesel countered, leaning back against the wall and shoving his hands into his pocket.

"Don't try to fool me, Diesel. I've been trained to recognise a lie. And when you told Gen about Steph's tumour you were lying about something. What aren't you saying?"

Diesel shrugged and looked me straight in the eye as if daring me to force a confession out of him. "I can't say," he said, sounding bored. "Can I get back to the carrots now?"

* * *

_Please review. Speculations. General feedback. It's all welcome._


	29. We Interrupt this Program

_Sorry it's taken so long for me to update. RL has been a bit of a b-with-an-itch what with exams and such. So this chapter is a bit short, but there is more to come. Hopefully soon._

WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM TO BRING YOU A SHORT INTERLUDE FROM THE COMM. FLOOR!

**Chapter 29**

Tank's POV _(starts a few hours earlier than the last chapter left off)_

By mid-afternoon I was fairly sick of paperwork, but I knew there was no way to avoid it. I'd neglected it the past few days in order to make sure I was available for Magenta. The boss would understand, no doubt about that, but it didn't keep Gazz the office manager off my case. He'd been working at Rangeman since he was 18. Started out in the mail room where he served three years until the previous office manager transferred out and he was promoted.

Gazz wasn't your typical Rangeman by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, he was physically fit, thanks to mandatory gym sessions, but it was nowhere near the field work employee standard. No, Gazz's strongest muscle was his brain… The brain is a muscle right? Oh well. You get what I mean. He's smart. Does-hard-math-in-his-head type smart. And his organisational skills were phenomenal. Within a month of him being office manager operations were running smoother than a baby's bottom, and thanks to the "Must not enter the command centre directly after a workout" rule, they smelled better too.

We respected him as our office manager, this is true. But as a person, well… there's only so much you can take.

For starters, his overall image was what Magenta referred to as "Trendy Nerd". Think Clark Kent. That's approximately the realm we're talking. Perfectly quaffed hair. Black rimmed glasses. Muscular but not too muscular physique. Button through shirts with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. Perfectly creased pants. Shoes a woman could do her make-up in they were so shiny. Several of the guys had taken to asking him who the hell he was whenever he took his glasses off. He laughed along like it wasn't annoying at all, which, unfortunately for him, only encouraged them to do it again. And again. And again.

Other than the way he dressed there was the way he talked – like he'd just stepped out of the dictionary – and the way he treated the rest of us. I think the power of being office manager and having a bunch of big bad guys – some of which, admittedly, weren't the brightest bulbs in the box – had gone to his head.

I was passing through the comm. room with a pile of files I needed searches done for and he called me into his office. I groaned inwardly as I passed over the threshold.

"You're a week behind in your paperwork," he informed me sternly. "How do you expect this company to run properly if you don't get your paperwork done on time?"

I bit my tongue to keep from telling him to get bent. Patience was the key. Her certainly didn't respond well to angry Rangemen. Especially since we were all bigger than him. I took a deep cleansing breath and replied, "I've been working on catching up all day. There's an awful lot for me to get through. Perhaps I could get back to it?"

"There wouldn't be so much to catch up on if you did it during the allotted hour at the end of each day," he countered. "What excuse do you have for that?"

"The boss required my assistance," I grated out through gritted teeth. "Now if you'll excuse me, the more time I spend in your office, the further behind in my paperwork I get. And I don't want invoke the wrath of my office manager. He can be a bit anal about punctuality."

I didn't even wait from a reaction. As I said the last few words, I turned and marched across the comm. room to dump the files in Benny's inbox. Then, just to spite Gazz, I went to the break room and poured myself a cup of coffee which I then drank while chatting with Junior about his niece who had recently joined the army. Ten minutes later I was on my way back to my office when Lester called me over to the bank of monitors.

"I don't know what happened, man," he said, gesturing to the screens. "I was sitting here watching the screens, thinking about Steph. One minute they're working fine and the next they're like this."

I followed his hand gestures and saw with great shock that the screens were full of static. This hadn't happened in well over fifteen years. I tried to cast my mind back the circumstances surrounding the last time, but to no avail. Had it been an electrical fault? Some kind of interference? Nothing was ringing a bell, and none of the guys looked like they had any kind of a clue. I had to report this.

"Get Hector to check the electricals," I told Lester as I pulled out my cell and hit speed dial one.

"Speak," Ranger said as he picked up. He sounded frustrated. I guessed he was sick of Gen's questions already. I had to admit, she could be a bit full one once she got into a subject. And she had definitely gotten into the subject of her Mama.

"We got a problem," I began.

"I got problems of my own," he growled, then sighed. "What is it?"

"Is Gen alright?" I asked. Maybe something had happened and that's why he sounded frustrated. "What's happened?"

"Everything's fine," he assured me. "Something just… cropped up, that's all. What's the problem?"

"Static." It was the short and to the point. "All the buildings security cameras are showing nothing but static." I heard him snarl a few choice words. "This has happened before. Years ago."

"I know." Gee, he really wasn't in the greatest of moods. I hoped Gen was okay. I thought he would have been super-duper, over-the-moon happy. He'd spent all day with his daughter talking about the love of his life. How had he managed to get into such a fouly?

"What was it last time?" I asked

The one word he uttered next explained it all. It explained the camera problem as well as his mood. "Diesel."

He hung up.

Of course. The note in Gen's package had hinted he would be turning up soon. I relayed the information to Lester and told Hector not to worry about the checking the connections. They would return to normal in a few minutes. Once I saw that the feed was fine I returned to my office and the mound of paperwork I'd been avoiding. It felt like only a few minutes had passed when Bobby was at my door.

"It's been hours," he informed me. "You need a break."

"I have to get through my paperwork," I informed him.

Bobby snorted. "As the company medic, I say you need a break for the sake of your health. Mental and physical. So come on. Lester's been snooping in old computer files. He found some stuff from when Steph was working here."

With a half hearted sigh, I tossed my pen down and followed Bobby to the bank of monitors. Lester was there paying very little attention to the screens he was supposed to be watching. Luckily, someone had pulled in a couple of the newer guys to play sitting duck. I gave the men a cursory glance to make sure they were doing what they were supposed to be doing before pulling a chair up to Lester's computer.

"Get a load of this," Lester said, pulling up a video from the web cam folder for STeph's cubicle. The file was dated seventeen years ago, to the day. I was confused for a moment by what I was looking at. I'd expected to see Steph's face taking up the entire screen, as is the usual picture on Rangeman Webcams. This, however, seemed to be some kind of Yeti.

"Is that –?" Bobby started, then stopped, obviously too fascinated by what was going on to finish his question.

"Is she using the webcam to do her hair?" I asked instead.

"Seem's that way," Lester mentioned then fiddled with the computer keys for a moment. Seconds later the screen was divided. On one half, was the back of Steph's head as she expertly put pins in place. On the other, was the security feed from the same day and time, showing both the back of Steph's head from a different angle to the webcam and the computer screen where the webcam image was displayed. As we watched the webcam stopped but the security feed continued.

Steph had apparently finished with her hair and was moving the webcam back to the top of the computer screen where it belonged.

"No watch this and be confused as hell," Lester said, indicating for us to stay focused as he expanded the security feed to full screen.

She was now working on her make-up. The confusing part? She was using the webcam once again and what appeared on the screen was not a mirror image. It was the opposite. But she appeared to manage it just fine. I totally dumbfounded. I didn't think I'd have been able to do that if my life depended on it.

"I'm not surprised," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair. "A, she's resourceful. B, I've seen her do her make-up without a mirror or anything and she did it perfectly. C, I tested her once, her brain has a supernatural ability to think backwards."

"Oh, come on," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "You just made that up."

Bobby grinned at me, and replied, "Yeah, but I've seen her do this before in person and I don't know anyone else who has ever accomplished the act successfully."

"True," Lester agreed, "I wonder if Gen can do it. It seems like the kind of skill that should be extremely rare, but also genetic."

"Are you aware that we're sounding a bit like teenagers here?" Bobby asked, just as my phone rang.

"Tank," I answered as I opened the phone.

"Finally," came an exasperated voice on the other end. She sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it off the top of my head. "Did you all drop off the face of the planet or what?"

"Who is this?" I asked.

* * *

_Like I said. It's a bit short. And it's not the main story line that we've been following for the past few chapters. But we'll get back to that soon and it'll all come together... *fingers crossed*... Don't forget to review. Pretty please?_


	30. More Revelations

_Two updates in two days. It's a miracle!... and clearly exam time... Yeah, I'm once again updating to avoid practicing for my final performance exam (It's in two days and I still haven't memorised my Bach examples! EEK!) Anyway, I'm very happy with how this story is progressing at the moment. I'm finally getting to the nitty-gritty bits I've been planning for the last four or five chapters! Here it is. Hope you enjoy it._

**Chapter 30**

Tank's POV continued

_"Who is this?" I asked_

"Oh come on," the voice replied exasperatedly. "It's me! Don't tell me you don't recognise my voice."

I rolled my eyes. I was starting to get a clue as to who this was, but why she would be calling me was still beyond my powers of comprehension. "Okay," I said. "So I won't tell you I don't recognise your voice. Why don't you tell me why you're calling?"

"Major development, dude. You know what I spoke to you about the other day? Well, I dealt with it and the results were really positive. I think I'm ready, dude. Where's Gen?"

I shuddered, remembering the conversation I had had with Gen's best friend just a few days ago. It was cringe worthy then and it was still cringe worthy now. During the full five minutes that Gen was unconscious after I arrived that day, Meli had lamented about how messed up her love life was. She liked a guy named – and I'm ashamed to admit I remember this, but it comes from being an active listener – Trevor Gallgey, however, she also seemed to have feelings for a girl – yes, a girl. I was shocked too – named Jillian Broker. If that weren't confusing enough for the girl, she was stuck in the vortex of an on-again off-again relationship with a guy she simply called Tripp. It was all just too much information for me to handle. Too much insight into the life of a teenage girl, so I pushed it to the darkened corner of my brain usually reserved for humiliating nights out with too much drinking.

"Hello!" Meli's voice screeched in my ear. "Were you listening? Where's Gen? I'm ready to tell her."

"Gen is offline at the moment. I'll pass on a message for her to call you later," I told her.

I was about to hang up when she said hurriedly, "Is she alright? I haven't heard from her in days. I was starting to worry."

A smile graced my face knowing the Gen had such a good friend. "She's fine. She just needs some time to work some stuff out."

"Okay… yeah. That's good. You'll give her my message?"

"I promise." I said and hung up before she continue the conversation any further.

Bobby and Lester were crowded around the computer screen reading a chat log when I returned my attention to them.

"Who was that?" Les asked, not taking his gaze from the screen.

"And since when are you Gen's secretary?" Bobby added, also glued to the screen.

"That was Meli," I informed them, squeezing between them to see what had captured their attention so fully. "She was just worried because she hasn't heard from Gen in a few days."

Just as I got engrossed in the detailed discussion Steph had had with Lula about the best way to straighten hair the main line rang. Bobby answered without moving his eyes and after a short conversation informed us that Gen wanted us for dinner on the seventh floor.

Gen's POV

I was in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the food while vaguely listening to Auntie Mare and Diesel's conversation. She kept making fluttery eyes at him, so I assumed she wasn't aware that he was a happily married man. For that matter, she probably wasn't aware that she was happily married at that particular moment. I had put Ingrid in her ball so she could roam the apartment and get a feel for it. I had half an ear on approximately where she was.

The elevator door opened in the foyer and I heard the distinct sound of Ingrid's ball rolling along the tiles in the entry way. The doorknob clicked open and a slight squeak sounded as whoever had just arrived pushed the door open.

Everything slowed.

I dashed out of the kitchen into the hall just as the door came fully open and Lester stepped over the threshold. He didn't stop, just continued walking in his massive boots. I mentally calculated the size of his steps and the speed Ingrid was moving at and found my mind in turmoil.

"STOP!" I screamed, suddenly thrusting my hands out in front of me as if to physically halt his movements. Lester stopped mid step, his foot poised in the air ready to come down just as Ingrid rolled under it. What I hadn't taken into account, though, was the rest of the men coming in behind him. Tio Eloy shuffled his way in, wearing his beat up sneakers.

I blinked in horror and suddenly Ingrid was airborne.

I screamed, unable to move.

Luckily, like always, my personal superhero was there to save the day. Papa stepped out of the living room at the sound of scream and caught Ingrid in her ball just before she would have hit the ground. As Papa straightened I rushed over and began screwing the top off the ball.

"Careful," Papa said, "She's probably spooked. Maybe you should put her straight into her cage."

But I'd already plunged my hand into the ball and wrapped my fingers around her. I was lifting her from the clear plastic when she sunk her teeth into my index finger. I yelped and dropped her simultaneously. Papa, being the saviour he was, caught Ingrid in some weird hold that prevented her from reaching his flesh to bite him.

"I'll go get Ingrid settled back in her cage. Bobby, tend to her bite. Mary-Lou, finish getting dinner on the table. Lester, set the table. Tank, watch these two." He indicated to Tio Eloy and Diesel when he spoke to Tank, then turned on his booted heel and left the crowded hall.

Bobby grabbed my wrist, examining my finger as he gently dragged me to the bathroom. The small apartment was an absolute flurry of activity. Diesel followed Bobby and I to the bathroom and watched as he covered my hand in antiseptic and a completely unnecessary bandage. Tank, following orders like a good lackey, dragged Tio Eloy with us to keep an eye on both of them.

I was sitting on the counter in the bathroom as Bobby packed away the first aid kit, examining my hand with a frown. "Is this really necessary?" I asked him, turning my wrist to get a different angle on the white monstrosity. "I don't think I can work cutlery with this thing on."

"You'll manage," Bobby said. "I'll take another look at it after dinner."

A sigh escaped my lips just as Diesel's pager went off. He checked the readout, pulled out his cell phone, pushed a button and grimaced. "Damn," he muttered. "Out of juice. Is there a phone I can use to make a long distance call on?"

I made eye contact with Tank and, if I wasn't very much mistaken, we had a short silent conversation before he nodded slightly.

"You can use the phone in Papa's office," I told him, sliding off the counter and leading him down the hall to the office. I handed him the hand set after making sure it was set to make outside phone calls and watched as he dialled from memory and pressed the phone to his ear.

The person on the other end must have picked up because he greeted them. Listened for a moment then cut his eyes to me and said, "Could I get some privacy?"

Nodding automatically, I backed out of the room, closing the door as I left. I hesitated a moment, staring at the blank wood of the door before pulling a glass from where I'd hidden it behind an end table. I was just about to press it and my ear against the door to eavesdrop when Papa appeared behind me. Hastily shoving the glass behind my back, I tried to think of a viable excuse for its presence in the hall outside his office.

He rolled his eyes. Grabbed the glass from my hand, replaced it in its hiding place and took my hand, leading me to the kitchen.

"Okay," Lester was saying, as we entered. "I've got it. Everyone pipe down."

Everyone – Bobby, Tank, Tio Eloy and Auntie Mare – were all gathered around the phone we kept on the bench. When they noticed us, Tank and Auntie Mare skooched over to make room for Papa and I to join the circle. I sat down on one of the stool and Papa leaned over my shoulder, listening intently as per usual.

"We're making an incredible risk here," Diesel said. "If they figure out the truth before they have all the facts they'll assume the worst and all our asses will be in slings."

"I know," came a female voice. "But honey, I think it's wearing off. It'll bedlam before too long if this continues."

Diesel sighed. "I was afraid this would happen. Formulate a distraction. A massive one. Plan a trip or something. I'll try wrap things up here as quickly as I can. I love you, baby."

"I love you too, honey," she replied, and then the line went dead.

Lester quickly returned the phone to its normal status while Bobby pulled a bottle of wine from gosh knows where and Tank sat a bunch of glasses on the bench for him to pour into. Auntie Mare was grabbing a bottle of pop from the fridge when Diesel sauntered in, all smiles and dimples.

"Sorry about that," he said, claiming a glass and sipping it appreciatively. "Janelle was worried about me, she heard on the news that there was a severe thunderstorm headed this way."

!

Dinner was tense that night, despite the joyful reminiscing that was going on. Maybe it was just me who was tense. Everyone else was looking pretty relaxed. Papa and his men were schooling their expressions perfectly, whereas I suspect Tio Eloy and Auntie Mare were on their way to being drunk. So as I sat there, studiously avoiding the thoughts running through my brain about the conversation we'd all over heard. I missed most of what was talked about until suddenly, Papa turned to Diesel and said, straight out, with absolutely no easing into it, "We listened in on your conversation with Janelle."

I was so shocked by this statement that I literally fell off my chair. My butt hit the floor with an almighty THUMP and every eye was on me. Tank, who was closest to me, helped me to my feet and righted my chair, which I gingerly sat back down on, red faced with embarrassment. "Sorry," I muttered, staring at my half eaten mashed potatoes. "You caught me off guard."

"It's okay," Tank whispered close to my ear, "He caught us all off guard."

"I was afraid this would happen," Diesel mentioned matter-of-factly. "I'll promise to explain exactly what the call was about if you promise to hear me out first. There are some things that you need to know before I make the big reveal."

"It's about the brain tumour isn't it," Papa asked sternly.

Diesel sighed. "Yeah, it's about the tumour. Do you wanna hear this in my words or in Steph's?" he asked the table.

As one, we all proclaimed that we wished to hear Mama's words in a combination of names. Bomber, Bombshell, Steph, Mama, you get the picture. And instantly, Diesel disappeared only to return less than a minute later with a letter in hand.

"Where did you just go?" I asked out of sheer overwhelming curiosity.

"My car," he said, but it was obviously a lie. I let it slide though. I wanted to hear the letter.

He unfolded it and opened his mouth to begin reading it allowed, but Papa snatched it from his hands. He read it quickly and with each sweep of the eye his face grew more angry. His eyes were hard by the time he reached the bottom of the page.

"What does it say, Papa?" I asked, laying a soft hand on his forearm.

He met my gaze for a moment, the anger slowly drifting away, leaving behind his blank stare. Then he returned his attention to the page and took a deep breath.

"Dear Ranger," he began on a sigh. "If you are reading this it means that enough time has passed for you to be allowed to know the truth. I can only assume certain events, including Magenta's fifteenth birthday, have occurred for you to have received this letter."

All eyes were on me again. "I'm not fifteen yet," I said, stating what they were all thinking. "My birthday isn't for another month."

"We made an exception with that one," Diesel explained. "It wasn't one of the major ones."

Papa continued. "You've probably been wondering about Magenta's biological father. Well what can I say? I'll give you all the information I had when I chose him. He's tall. Cuban. Dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes. Fine bone structure. Fit. A strong jaw."

"Oh, my god!" Tio Eloy exclaimed, sloshing some wine down the front of his shirt. "It's me! I'm Genny's father!" And then he passed out on the table to the tune of Diesel, Tank, Lester and Bobby laughing at him. Auntie Mare, in her slightly inebriated state, was staring in horror at the red stain on the table cloth.

"I got the sperm from a bank in Ohio after I left Trenton. I'm sure you don't need me to explain the circumstances that lead to me leaving. They were probably all over the 'burg by the time I reached the outskirts of the town. If Magenta really wants to meet her biological dad, you should contact Diesel for the Sperm Bank's details. They have a strict privacy policy, but I'm sure you can intimidate them into giving you the information you want."

"Sounds like you," Lester mentioned, popping a piece of bread in his mouth.

"Is that blood?" Auntie Mare asked, pointing to the spot she'd been staring at for the last few minutes.

"No, Auntie Mare," I said. "It's wine."

"Bobby, get her some coffee," Tank ordered.

"Now onto the real issue." Papa went on reading as if there hadn't been a interruption. "There was no brain tumour. I was slowly poisoned to death." He paused and looked up from the page again. "She was poisoned to death?" he asked Diesel, and I could tell there was anger simmering just under the surface. "How could you have let this happen?"

"I'll explain when you're finished with the letter," he said patiently. "You need to know what she wanted you to know first."

Papa glared at him a moment longer before continuing to read aloud. "By the time we caught on to the cause of my migraines and fatigue it was too late. Diesel promised to behead the person who did it as soon as he tracked them down. I hope this information eases your mind at least a little. Love eternal, Stephanie. PS. Don't kill Diesel. He was only following orders."

* * *

_As always, I urge you to review. All thoughts and ideas are welcome. Plus, if you all review quickly I might be encouraged to updated sooner rather than later. [eyebrow wiggle]_


	31. Out of Control

_Three updates so close together! Sure it's a sign of the apocolypse! No. More like a sign that I'm procrastinating in a semi-productive manner. I have my final exam for the year in less than ten hours, and instead of practicing like mad, I've been typing like mad. It's a really long chapter. Almost twice as long as average. So I apologise if you feel it's too long. It was either end it where I ended it or ended it at the ! and quite frankly, it would have been a lousy chapter had I done that. So get reading!_

**Chapter 31**

Everything was deathly silent for a moment as the words sunk in. I travelled my gaze around the room, not sure where to look or what to think. My mother had been poisoned. Slowly poisoned to death. I looked to Auntie Mare, Mama's best friend. She was looking much more sober than she had a few minutes ago. There were tears in her eyes, like she was mourning Mama's death anew. It made me think about my grandparents. They didn't know the truth about their own daughter's death after so many years. They'd been lied to, just like the rest of us. It wasn't fair.

Continuing around the table I noted Tio Eloy, still passed out with his head on the table after his mild freak out regarding the information about Mama's sperm donor. There was a wet patch on the table cloth from his drool and red stain next to it from his spilled wine. Next to Tio Eloy was Diesel, standing with his arms crossed, staring at the ground. Bobby and Lester were on his other side, both staring at me with sad, sympathetic eyes. I felt sure that if they could have helped it, I would not have heard that information. I would have gone through life believing that my mother had died of an inoperable brain tumour, not the poison of another human being's hatred.

I was glad they hadn't prevented me finding out. Knowing the truth, while it didn't bring my mother back, got me a step closer to knowing who Stephanie Plum was when she died. The fact that she and her support system at the time had fabricated the story that she'd died of a brain tumour and the story had gotten past Papa's radar and held fast for the past fourteen years was incredible.

Giving Bobby and Lester a reassuring smile to let them know I was alright, I looked to Tank. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, hands flat on the table, staring intently at Papa. When he felt my eyes on him he through a glance my way.

"Move away from the table," he said sternly, eyes locked on Papa once more. "The further away the better."

Slightly alarmed now, I turned to Papa, but my loving, caring Papa wasn't there. In his place was hulk of a man, quivering with pent up anger and resentment. His face was schooled in his trademark blank stare, but I could see the hatred shooting through his eyes, directed straight at Diesel. If looks could kill Diesel would have been nothing but a pile of ashes on the dining room floor. Papa's fists were clenched at his sides in an effort to restrain himself. I watched a muscle tick in his jaw as he clenched it tight.

I was frozen. Couldn't move. I knew I should get out of the way. Knew that if he were to start a brawl right here and now I'd be in the middle of it. And as surely as I knew that Papa would never intentionally hurt me, I knew that in the state he was currently in, the likelihood of him accidentally hurting me was pretty high.

There was a crushing pressure in my chest as I continued to stare stupidly at the man who was my guardian, but wasn't.

Slowly, he got to his feet, pushing the chair back with his foot until it hit the wall behind him. His eyes flickered for a moment and jumped to my face. For one brief, almost missed moment, he was Papa again. But then it was gone.

"Get out of the way, Magenta," he said calmly, clenching and unclenching his fists at irregular intervals. Another second passed and I still couldn't find my feet. "NOW!" he yelled, suddenly.

That was all it took.

All at once, I was cowering in the corner closest to Auntie Mare. She moved her chair back to provide a layer of protection in case things went haywire. She was still sitting in the chair. I craned my neck to see what was happening beyond her and was confronted by the sight of my papa with his hands around Diesel's throat.

From what I could tell, Papa had lunged over the table and dragged him across it. Diesel was now half lying on, half dangling above the table as Papa cut of his airways. Tio Eloy had been knocked to the ground and was now staring blankly at the ceiling, probably wondering where the hell he was. If I could find my voice I'd have told him he was in an episode of _True Blood. _Minus the vampires, shape shifters and annoying southern accents. Actually, I probably shouldn't mention anything to do with True Blood, given that I wasn't allowed to watch it. Too much sex.

Tank, Bobby and Lester were all clawing at Papa, trying to get him to let Diesel go. His face was red and I could see all the veins in his neck and forearms. Diesel, on the other hand was turning purple.

He wasn't even trying to fight back. It was like he thought he deserved what he was getting. Had it coming for a long time. It made me wonder how much guilt he'd been living with all these years. Knowing that Mama had been poisoned right under his nose and he hadn't been able to do a thing about it once they'd figured it out.

I let out a sob that I hadn't been aware was building up. Auntie Mare grabbed one of my hands and squeezed it tight, rubbing her thumb along it's back. I squeezed back, eager for something to do other than stare at the horrific scene before me and think about the devastating events that had led to it's occurrence.

Papa's concentration broke for just a fraction of a second at the small sound from my chest, but it was enough for Tank, Bobby and Lester to gain the upper hand. Using a special, top secret move, Bobby released Papa's hands from Diesel's neck and, almost simultaneously, Tank and Lester dragged Papa out of the room. Diesel collapsed, face first onto the table top, breathing heavily as Bobby quickly checked him over for any serious injuries that may have been incurred.

It wasn't until we heard the stairwell door slam shut that any of us broke the relative silence.

Tio Eloy was the first to make a sound, letting out a low moan as he caressed his head. "I've just had the most horrible dream," he groaned. "I dreamt I found out I was Magenta's father."

Before I could even process this statement, Auntie Mare was on her feet, standing over him, hands on hips, burg glare in place. "What made the dream so horrible?" she asked in a tone that clearly spoke of the things she would gladly do to him if he said one word against me.

His eyes bugged out of his head as he stared up at her. "N-n-not M-m-ma-magenta!" he exclaimed. "No. I'm just… I'm not… ready to be a father. I d-d-don't even like kids."

Auntie Mare nodded her satisfaction with his answer and thrust a hand out to help him up. He cringed away at first, but when he realised she meant no harm, took it gratefully. "Go take some pain killers and get yourself some coffee, then go sit in the living room."

"But I wanna know what's –," he began to protest, but with one look at Auntie Mare's face, he was on his way.

I crawled slowly out from behind the chair and made my way over to Diesel and Bobby. Auntie Mare close behind me. "Is he alright?" I asked, staring at the back of Diesel's head, but directing my words to Bobby.

"Just a bit of bruising from what I can tell," Bobby replied dutifully. I couldn't tell if he was lying for my sake or if it was true, but I was grateful for the answer I received.

"I'm fine," came Diesel's tablecloth muffled voice. "It takes more than a few seconds without air to knock me down." He lifted his head and grinned at me confidently.

_A few seconds? _ I thought. I could have sworn that Papa had had his hands around his neck for at least a few minutes. It felt like I had been sitting in that corner for hours. But he was saying it was only a few minutes? I wanted to believe him, but my mind was racing so fast it kept overtaking the thought and pushing it to the sidelines.

"Are _you_ okay?" Bobby asked me, laying a hand on my shoulder as I rocked forward a little. I was feeling rather faint all of a sudden.

!

The waves that were crashing against the inside of my skull slowly receded I became aware of murmuring voices somewhere nearby. I could focus on them enough to decide genders, and I couldn't concentrate enough to make out words. It was like listening to the radio when you haven't quite got the station right. As I tried to listen to the conversation I thought I was hearing, though, the waves came back with a vengeance. I could feel them crashing over me, like I was at the beach being sucked into a rip. I tried swimming for the surface but could figure out which way was up. The roaring in my eyes had silenced everything except my whirring thoughts. The weight of the ocean pressing in on me prevented me from opening my eyes.

I was drowning in my own subconscious. What a way to die.

Suddenly, like the blinding light from a beacon, a voice cut through the haze of sound. They were calling me name. I think. May it was just that the voice was so loud I _thought_ it was calling my name. They could have been ordering from a Taco Bell menu, for I cared. It was a voice and it was leading me to the waking world. Through the waves and seaweed. I breached the surface and gasped in a breath of air that went right down to my belly. A belly, I now realised, that was rolling violently, almost like it was battling its own set of waves.

I quickly leaned over the side of the couch I was lying on to avoid covering myself in vomit as it rose out of me like lava from a volcano.

"Gross!" said a shrill voice above me as I dry heaved over the edge. "That's disgusting! I can't believe you did that. These are my favourite shoes. Do you know how long it took me to break these shoes in? A really long time. I've had these shoes longer than you've been alive and they were only just reaching an acceptable level of broken-in-ness last week. I can't believe you did that!"

Finally able to breathe normally again, I leaned back against the cushions of the couch and looked up, searching for a face to match the voice. I'd expected to find Auntie Mare, her hands held out away from her body just thinking about having to touch her vomit covered shoes. What I found, though, was Diesel, his face contorted in disgust as he stared down at his feet.

It took me a minute to realise that the room was filled with laughter, at which point I sought out Papa. He should be here. I didn't find him though. The closest I got was Bobby, laughing heartily at the spectacle that was Diesel.

"So you can handle being deprived of air," he chuckled after calming down a bit, "But a little bit of girl vomit has you practically voiding your Man Card? This is rich. Does your wife know you're like this?"

"Shut up," Diesel grumbled, toeing off his shoes and carefully stepping away from my vomit.

Auntie Mare – the strong stomached mother that she is – knelt next to the couch, careful to avoid the splattered chunks, and began scooping the vomit into an ice cream bucket. WITH HER BARE HANDS!

I couldn't watch. The smell alone was almost too much for me. I turned my face into the back of the couch and breathed in the non-existent dust motes in an attempt to escape the smell until a hand tapped me on the shoulder. Tio Eloy was holding a glass of water out for me, deliberately not looking in the direction of my half digested dinner. He was looking a little green around the gills, and I can't say I blamed him. I would have rather been anywhere else in the world right now if it meant I didn't have a nose full of disgusting.

"Where's Papa?" I asked, trying to distract myself. "Is he alright?"

"Ranger's fine," Bobby assured me, coming around the couch and laying the back of his hand on my forehead. "Tank and Lester took him down to the gym to cool off. How do you feel?"

"Gross," I admitted. "I need a shower and to brush my teeth. But I need to know Papa's alright."

"Your Papa's a big man, I'm sure he's fine," Bobby said. "Why don't you go have a shower and get into some clean clothes. When you're out we'll call down to the control room and see how things are progressing."

I nodded my agreement, but I was really thinking of ways I could sneak past his watch and go down to the gym to see for myself that he was alright. Bobby released me and I crawled to the other end of the couch to climb over the arm there and avoid the possibility of vomit-ifying my foot. When I reached the end, though, I found myself lifted from the cushions and carried, as if I weighed no more than a baby, to the doorway that led to the hall.

I went to my bedroom and retrieved a pair of cut-off sweats, a baggy eighties style t-shirt that was only meant to cover one shoulder and some clean underwear then headed into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and shoved my hair, which by now was completely out of control, into a haphazard ponytail on the top of my head. I turned the shower on but didn't get undressed or step under the spray. As much as I didn't want to sound like a needy little snot nose child, right now, the thing I needed most was my papa. I could have a million showers and still wouldn't feel any better as long as Papa was several floors below me, probably beating the crap out of some poor defenceless gym equipment.

The beauty of my and Papa's apartment is, while it's circular by any stretch of the imagination, there is an inner 'circle' and an outer 'circle'. In the middle was the living room with a hallway surrounding it on all four sides, while the outer circle consisted of the front door followed in a clockwise direction by the kitchen and dining room. On the back wall was Papa's bedroom, complete with en suite. The third side held my room, followed by a small laundry and the bathroom. And on the fourth wall was Papa's office. The office only took up about half of the side, with the rest cut out from the other side to provide the foyer.

You could walk all the way around the outside of the living room without being stopped by a wall or a door. The detail that made my escape so possible though, was that there were only two entrance to the living room. One was on the kitchen side, opening between the kitchen and dining room doorways, the other was on the side of my bedroom and opened pretty much directly across from the laundry room door. This meant that I could walk from the bathroom to the front door without being seen, provided on one was in the hall or sticking their head out of a doorway.

A quick peek between the door and the jamb showed that no one was standing guard in the hall or in the entrance way to the living room, so I quietly eased the door open enough to slip out, slipped closed again without even making the tell-tale clicking noise it makes when the lock snatches, and tiptoed down the hall toward the front door. I snuck a look around the corner into the kitchen hallway to be certain no one was keeping an eye out from that side and slithered out the front door the same way I had the bathroom.

I couldn't risk the BING the elevator would make if I used it, so quickly and quietly moved to the stairs, hurrying down them until I reached the landing that lead to the gym. I steeled a deep breath before pushing through into the main hall of the floor.

Completely deserted.

I crossed the hall and entered the gym proper, where all the workout machines were. It too was empty, but I could hear grunting and the sound of flesh meeting flesh coming from the mats. Careful not to run into anything in the fairly unfamiliar environment – I can honestly say that I didn't spend as much time in here as I probably would have liked – I weaved my way around the equipment until I reached the massive door at the other end of the room.

Then I was faced with a dilemma. I couldn't just barge in. What if Bobby had lied and Papa wasn't in there? What if they were actually training new recruits in there? I looked at my watch. Okay, so the likelihood of it being the recruits thing at this hour was slim to none if they had any decency, but I still couldn't just barge in. I needed a way to figure out if Papa was in there before actually opening the door.

My gaze was drawn upward.

There, above the solid wood door was a window. And here was me, on the floor, unable to reach it of my own will. I needed a boost. Or mad ninja skills that allowed me to scale the wall using nothing more than my bare hands. A boost was probably the more plausible option, so I looked around for something I could stand on. Frustration built inside me as I noticed that nearly everything in this room was bolted to the floor. And those things that weren't bolted down were things like towels and hand weights. Things that were pretty much useless for my cause.

Finally, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. At that moment there was nothing in the world more beautiful. Off in the corner, half hidden behind the laundry cart, was a garbage can. What they needed a garbage can in here for, I had no idea, but I was thankful for its existence. I dragged it over to the door and climbed on top.

What I saw was no shock to me. I'd seen Papa spar two against one a few dozen times over the years. He always held his own, no matter the opponents. A closer look at the scene though, and I could tell that the look on his face wasn't the usual determination to win, but instead something I could only describe as distraught. As soon as I had identified the expression, it was gone, a mask of loathing taking its place.

As I watched, he knocked Lester to the ground and immediately turned his attention to Tank. His back was to me, which meant Tank was facing the door. For a brief second his eyes met mine over Papa's shoulder and it was all the time Papa needed to sent him flying across the mat.

Papa put his hands behind his head and surveyed the two men sprawled on the ground for a moment before striding to the side of the room and grabbing a bottle of water off the bench seat.

_Now or never_, I thought to myself and jumped off the bin. I sidled into the room, suddenly feeling insecure. I knew that Papa would be my papa no matter what, but as I recalled what he had done to Diesel upstairs; how out of control he'd been, my chest started to ache.

"Papa?" I called softly. I took a hesitant step onto the mat. "Are you okay?" I asked, fiddling absently with my signet ring.

He leaned back against the wall, his arms dropping to his side as he met my gaze. "How much of that did you see?" he asked, screwing the top back onto his bottle.

"Just the last couple of seconds," I informed him, slightly confused. "Papa, I've seen you spar like that a million times, it doesn't bother me."

"It used to," he said. "When you were five I let you watch me spar for the first time. The match didn't last long before you ran onto the mat screaming 'Don't hurt my papa!'." He cracked a smile. "It made me think of your mama," he admitted, sliding down the wall to sit on the bench. "She would have done the same thing, if she thought someone was attacking someone she loved. Just run into the middle of it. No fears."

"I don't remember every being bothered by you fighting like that," I said, taking a few more steps into the room.

"Probably because after that he made me hold you down and make sure you watched him spar several times a week until you understood that no one was hurting anyone. That they were just practicing," Tank said from his position several feet away, flat on his back.

"You really made him do that?" I asked Papa closing more of the distance between us. "You made him restrain me while I probably kicked and screamed and was terrified?"

"It broke my heart," he said sadly, "but I had to do it. Growing up in this building you were bound to be exposed to more violence that you should have. I had to make sure you were okay with seeing people beat each other up."

"But what if you'd sent me the wrong message? What if I'd thought fighting in general was okay and started picking fights at preschool?"

Papa chuckled. "You did. Just once. We cured you of that line of thinking after that."

"Cured your fear of the dark at the same time," Lester chipped in.

I shook my head slightly, wondering why I didn't remember any of this. I probably repressed the memories because they were too traumatic, but kept the message the actions sent.

"About what happened upstairs," I started. Stopping in front of Papa. "I-."

"I snapped," Papa said. "I just started thinking about what could have happened differently if Steph had been here with me. Or even simply in Trenton. Surely we'd have noticed the poison sooner. I knew it wasn't his fault. I knew he did all he could. But I snapped. I couldn't keep the anger inside me any longer. I had to let it out. And he was standing there, conveniently in my reach."

"He wasn't in your reach," Tank protested. "You lunged across the table to grab him."

Papa sent a glare in Tank's direction then swiftly pulled me onto his lap. I squealed as his arms wrapped around me and I felt his sweat seeping through my clothes. "Eww! Papa! GROSS!" I tried to push away, but he held me tighter.

"Can you forgive me?" he whispered into my hair as I kicked my legs, trying to get away.

I stilled when his words registered in me brain. _Forgive him for what?_ "You didn't cause any real damage," I reasoned out, as much for my own benefit as anything else. "Diesel's fine. Barely even bruised."

He could tell we weren't really on the same page. He kissed the top of my head and held me away from his body so that he could see my face. "I promised you a long time ago that I would never lose control in front of you," he said. "I broke that promise today."

I sighed. _That,_ I could remember. It was right after I'd watched a particularly violent outburst directed at one of the Lost Boys. I'd thought at the time that he was going to start hurting people left right and centre. When I'd voiced my fears later that night, he'd informed me that he was in control the whole time. And then I'd made him promise.

"Of course I forgive you," I said, slightly exasperated that he would think I'd hold it against him. "You maintained control long enough to make sure I was out of the line of fire. And besides that, I could never hold a grudge against you. You're my Papa. Forever and always. Nothing's going to change that."

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REVIEW! PLEASE! I MEAN IT! The more reviews I recieve the more likely I am to update. Don't leave the fate of this story up to someone else!


	32. Let them Eat Cake

_Another chapter. And all I can say is "Finally!" This chapter took more effort to write than it probably should have, and I'm sorry to say that I haven't gotten to the really exciting stuff I've been dreaming about for weeks yet. But I assure you, it's coming up fast! Enjoy!_

**Chapter 32**

When Papa and I arrived back at the apartment after a few minutes alone in the gym, everyone was gathered around the kitchen bench again, eating cake. Insanely jealous as always when someone else had cake and I didn't, I pinched a bite each off Bobby and Lester before stealing the half piece that was still sitting on Tank's plate. He stared at me as I deftly shoved the entire thing in my mouth.

"What?" I asked, attempting both an indignant tone and a grin around my cake. It turned out as more of a "Wofffff?" coupled with a gruesome grimace.

"You stole my cake," he accused.

I managed to swallow the wad of cake fairly quickly and countered with, "You were lingering. It was fair game." Then I had a thought and grinned more successfully. "I could give it back if you like," I offered. "Just ask Diesel."

Turning my grin to the man in question, I watched as he promptly set his half finished cake on the counter, far away from him. "Thanks a lot," he said. "First you ruin my shoes. Now you ruin my cake. What's next?" I simply shrugged and commenced eating his cake, much slower than I had Tank's.

Auntie Mare set a glass of milk each in front of me and Papa and started fiddling with my hair. "I could have cut you your own piece," she mentioned, beginning what felt like a braid. It had been ages since anyone had played with my hair. I remember when I was little, Ella would do my hair every morning, always neat and tidy, and then send me off to school. The neatness of my hair would last until first break when they let us out into the playground. By the end of the day it wouldn't even look like I'd done my hair that morning at all. These days I brushed my hair maybe twice a week and as far as I was concerned it looked fine, but not spectacular. I didn't know how to braid or plait hair. I limited myself to pony tails and massive clips. Everything else I left to the professionals.

"What's the point of getting a piece of my own when I knew Tank wasn't going to finish his anyway?" I asked her, sending a smile in his direction when he playfully glared at me. "You weren't going to finish it," I insisted. "You were just kinda looking at it, thinking of ways to get out of eating it. So I solved your problem."

"I was going to finish mine!" Diesel exclaimed.

Bobby chuckled at this. "You want it back now?" he asked. "I have some medicine down stairs that get it back in a couple of minutes."

"I'm good," Diesel grumbled. "Lost my appetite anyway."

I tried to stifle a yawn as Auntie Mare finished braiding my hair and secured it with a tie she either pulled from her pocket or from thin air, because I certainly hadn't provided it. I tended not to carry around hair ties because the chance of it actually taming my hair was slim to none. It would just all fall out after ten minutes anyway. But anyway, back to my yawn. If I allowed any of the people surrounding me to see I was tired, they'd send me straight to bed, and I couldn't risk mussing anything them might potentially say about Mama and then never say again because it never came up again. I wanted – no, NEEDED – to know everything about her... Okay, so it was more of a want than a need, but it was pretty strong want.

"It's been so long since I did anyone's hair but my own," Auntie Mare sighed, dropping onto a stool beside me to finish her own cake. It was a well known fact that Auntie Mare regretted not having a daughter of her own. When I was little she would babysit me whenever she had the chance and we would have tea parties and do girlie things. Most of the time our pretty little butterfly cakes would be knocked to the floor by Michael or gobbled up by Brandon when we weren't looking. Auntie Mare would scold them and tell them to go play outside. Of course, after about an hour or so fo ribbons and bows and glitter and pink I would be begging to go out and make mud pies or climb trees or play shoot 'em up with her boys.

I was never allowed.

Auntie Mare treasured her girlie time with me. She'd claimed I spent enough time with boys at home and that her sons played too rough for me to join them. Even at the tender age of four, I knew that the latter was an out-and-out lie. My playmates, for the most part, when I was at home were all around the six fot mark with more muscle than a freight train. They sported body piercings, forehead – and other – tattoos, scars that had scars of their own and, oh yeah, loaded guns. Not to mention other various items a four-year-old should not be able to reach. Probably, I could handle a few pre-teens with NERF guns and pool noodles.

But I humoured her.

Realistically, she was one of my only gateways into girlie things. It was just Auntie Mare and her tea parties. Grandma buying me dresses and pretty things I would only be forced into when we were going to visit her or she was coming over. Ella teaching me to cook. Abuela with her love for dress ups. And, well, I don't have all that much memory of doing things like that with Nan or Nana Bella, but I'm sure they tried in vain to make me a girlie girl. Everyone who wasn't a man did.

"I used to play with Steph's hair during lunch period at school," Auntie Mare went on. "And then whenever I could after we graduated, but it wasn't as often. We both had our own lives. We both got married. I had the boys. Her marriage dissolved... Anyway, the point is, I miss playing with her curls, even your curls. Remember when I used to do your hair?" I nodded, squelching another yawn. "So I was wondering if ou'd mind letting me do your hair while I'm here?" she asked. "I know you're not girl, but sometimes it's nice to try something new." I gave her a deadpan look. "You never know, you might like it."

Just as I opened my mouth to let her know I was fine – not thrilled, but merely fine – with her being my personal hairdresser for the next few days, the yawn I'd been pushing down escaped. Once I let my jaw inch open it stretched to full capacity and my eyes squeezed shut. I mentally rolled my eyes, cursing my own body for its reaction and nodded my reply instead.

"You should go to bed," Bobby said.

Almost at the same time, Lester commented, "Looks like the sleep train is leaving the station, better go catch it."

"I'm not tired," I tried to protest, but another yawn slipped out. I rolled my eyes for real this time and conceded, "Okay, so I'm tired. But I don't want to go to bed yet. Can we talk about Mama some more?"

"Genny-Babe, whatever you want to know about her can wait until morning. Time for bed."

Of course, I was like putty in his hand when he called me Genny-Babe. He could have told me to do my math homework and I would have done it if he'd called me Genny-Babe. It was like it touched a part of my soul deep inside each time he said it. I was always left feeling warm and fuzzy.

"Speaking of bed," Diesel piped up, reminding us of his presence. "Does anyone have a place I can stay for a few days?"

"All the apartments are full," Tank said promptly. "We gave the last one to Mary Lou."

"I'm happy with a couch," Diesel offered.

I looked around the group. None of the Lost Boys looked willing to lend a helping hand. Tio Eloy was already sleeping on Lester's couch. And Auntie Mare didn't seem as though she wanted the man within fifty feet of her when she was trying to sleep – she didn't trust herself that much.

"Papa," I whispered after a moment. I didn't want to make an offer I wasn't allowed to make, so I had to check with my guardian first. "We have a couch."

"I don't want him staying in my apartment," Papa replied, equally as quiet.

I thought for a moment. I really didn't want to have to turn him away after he'd brought all that stuff from my short life with Mama. There had to be a solution. "What if," I began slowly, still formulating the plan in my head and checking the workability of it. "What if I sleep on the couch, Auntie Mare takes my bed and Diesel takes the apartment?"

"It's almost a perfect plan," Papa agreed. "But you're not sleeping on the couch.

"Why not?" I asked. The man was perfectly fine making me sleep on the floor instead of my bed when I'd mixed itching powder with the fake snow they used in the school production when I was in grade three, but I wasn't allowed to sleep on the couch to solve sleeping arrangement logistics? Talk about keeping me on my toes.

For a moment I feared he was going to suggest I sleep on the floor or go spend the night with Dad where I was guaranteed a bed, but then he announced to the room that he had solved the problem. All the talking that had been going on stopped immediately, despite his soft tone, and they waited for the run down.

"Diesel will sleep in the apartment Mary Lou is currently occupying." When Auntie Mare started to protest, he held up a hand to silence her. "Mary Lou can sleep in Magenta's bed." She once again tried to voice an opinion on the matter but was cut off. "Magenta will be sleeping in my bed. And I will sleep on the couch."

"Papa!" I exclaimed. "You can't sleep on the couch! Take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. I don't mind."

"The lighting is too bright for you to sleep properly in the living room even with all the lights off," he said simply, stating a fact that was well known to most of the people in the room. "You'll sleep in my bed and that's that."

"But Papa," I protested, "You own this building. It doesn't seem fair."

Papa smiled at me and stroked my cheek. "You're right," he said. "I own this building. So what I decide goes. You're sleeping in my bed. I'm sleeping on the couch." He turned to the rest of the people surrounding us and began giving orders, just to prove his point, I'm sure. "Everyone should retire for the night. Tank, take Diesel down to the apartment and help Mary Lou bring her stuff up."

They all nodded and headed for the door. Once they were gone Papa told me to go get ready for bed while he cleaned up the dishes. I did as I was told initially, getting into my pyjamas, brushing my teeth and putting fresh sheets on my bed for Auntie Mare. I grabbed a spare pillow from the hall closet for her to use and took my pillow and a spare blanket and went and sat on the couch.

"You're not changing my mind on this, Genny," he called from the kitchen just as I sat down. "Go to bed."

"I'm sleeping here," I said defiantly. "I'll be asleep before Auntie Mare and Tank get back, just you wait."

"No you won't be."

I laid down and pulled the blanket over top of me, covering my head to aid the darkness. "I _will _be."

"Will be what?" Tank asked, from somewhere nearby. "I thought you were sleeping in Ranger's bed."

"I refuse!" I cried, thrusting the covers off my head to glare at him. He was standing at the end of the couch holding one of Auntie Mare's bags. "Papa shouldn't have to sleep on the couch!"

"Papa can sleep anywhere he chooses," Papa said, coming into the room and picking me up, pillow and all. He tossed me over his shoulder like some kind of caveman and carried me out of the room.

Tank followed us into the hall and turned in the opposite direction, heading for my room. He reached the door and turned back to face me. "Meli called me earlier," he said as I struggled to hold my head up to keep eye contact. "You should call her back in the morning."

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_Please don't forget to review! The author's mental health sometimes depends on your thoughtful feedback._


	33. Relax, Take it Easy

_It's a long chapter. Again. I don't know what's happening to me. I simply couldn't have ended this anywhere else, even though the ending of this chapter is a little blah. I've had this chapter written entirely, word for word in my mind for a few weeks now. I'm so glad to finally get out to you. Hope you enjoy it._

**Chapter 33**

In the days that followed things got a lot quieter. Diesel was still hanging around wreaking havoc whenever he could, but I'd seen less of him in the last twelve hours than usual. If I had to guess, I would say he was either out terrorising the greater Trenton area, had disappeared to save a country, or was in his apartment formulating yet another plan to put off telling us more about when Mama was poisoned. It was a tossup, but I think I was leaning toward options number one and three, rather than him saving the world. Because really, how would that sound? _"Sorry I'm late dear, I just popped out to save Ireland and lost track or time."_? ... Hehe, that sounded Brittish.

"Are we playing or not?" Carter asked, drawing me back out of my shell. "I think I've finally got the hang of it."

Carter was new. By which I mean, he was incredibly frustrated that he'd gone through rigorous training, served years in the military and made it through an intense interview process to get into Rangeman only to be relegated to reception work. And with reception work came me. Yes, dear Carter got to spend as much time with me as I wanted. It was one of Papa's convoluted plans to break in new recruits. Don't ask me how it works, all I know is that I'm under strict instructions to bug him to my heart's content.

Usually, I get through one or two hours with them then get bored and give up, since they're all incredibly boring and tight lipped, and afraid of Papa, and just generally too old to be interesting. Carter, however, had been here a month and I was still finding myself sitting with him in the lobby from time to time. He was interesting and interested. He didn't just shrug or raise an eyebrow at me when I asked him a question. He'd reply. Not necessarily with an honest answer, and I could usually tell because it was either utter nonsense or it involved circus monkeys following him around on unicycles.

It also didn't hurt that he was only ten years older than me and super handsome. Don't tell Papa I said that, he'd ban me from seeing him and then Carter would never master the game. And it was vitally important that he master the game. Clearly, I'm thinking for his benefit only. What do I have to gain from spending time with Carter?

So anyway, the game. Remember back at Abuela's when Lester and Bobby were playing that really complicated card game? This was it. Three days ago I was in the break room with them, bored out of my brain, and insisted they teach me how to play. It took the rest of the day and we were still at it after dinner, but I finally managed to play an entire game without one of them loking over my shoulder and telling me I'd done it wrong. Probably, it would have taken much less time had they explained the rules to me, but noooo they couldn't do that, it'd ruin the spirit of the game. Just because when they were starting it they made up rules as they went meaning they didn't actually know how to win until one of them exclaimed – presumably out of the blue – "I'VE WON!" They purportedly then played another dozen times in a row until the rules were concreted in their minds and the other had a clear understanding of how to win.

Yesterday morning I had skipped into the lobby and greeted my good buddy, Carter with a canasta deck and a big smile. Needless to say he was immediately suspicious of my motives. And who can blame the guy? I read in Mama's diary, which Diesel presented to me the day after Papa lost control, that the Merry Men, as she called them, had some pretty nasty initiation pranks that all began with being approached by a person holding a random item and smiling widely. Of course, she hadn't gone into a lot of detail on the pranks, but when I put together what she wrote about them, with what I've seen and heard growing up with the Lost Boys, I think I have a pretty good idea of some of them.

"You're going to learn how to play a new game today," I'd informed him as I grabbed a spare chair in the sectioned off receptionist space of the lobby. Please not my careful choice of vocabulary. I did not say I was going to teach him, merely that he was going to learn.

"Am I really?" he'd asked suspiciously. "What does this game entail?"

I dropped into the chair I'd dragged over, pushed some miscellaneous desk clutter aside and set the deck on the table between us. "You, me, and a special deck of cards."

He eyed the deck carefully before picking it up. As he rifled through the cards, shuffling it this way and that, he asked, "How special is a special deck of cards?"

Grinning, I replied enigmatically, "How clean is clean?" When he simply raised an eyebrow at me I caved. I couldn't stand the standard Lost Boy silent question. "It's just two normal decks of playing cards mixed together," I said.

Nodding his head, he mentioned, "I already figured that out."

"Impossible!" I cried dramatically. "You've had the deck for, like, thirty seconds."

"All the time I need."

"All you did was flick through them and then start shuffling."

"What else did you expect me do to?"

I ignored his question in favour of asking my own. "How could you possibly have figured it out so quickly?"

Carter set the cards back on the desk. "Let's do a test." He smiled at me and I felt my knees turn to jelly. It was a good thing I was sitting down, or I'd have fallen over. "I'm gonna go file these away in the cabinet over there." He nodded to the cabinet behind him and to the right. "While I'm busy, I want you to remove a card from the deck. When I get back, I'll tell you which it is."

I narrowed my eyes at him then glanced around the space, trying to figure out if he'd somehow set up an elaborate system of reflective surfaces that would allow him to see the card as I pulled it out of the deck. Eventually, I dismissed the farfetched theory and agreed. Then, in an effort to trip him up, I removed two cards from the deck instead of one.

When he returned to the desk he picked up the stack of cards and eyed me with a weird look on his face. Before I could ask what the look was about though, he'd quickly fanned through the deck and announced the two cards that were sitting in the back pocket of my jeans. "I'm ultra observant," he explained.

"I bet that's why Papa hired, you," I had grumbled, throwing the cards onto the table for him to shuffle back in.

"_I_ bet it's why I was kicked out of the army," he'd countered almost bitterly.

"You don't know for certain?" I'd asked.

"Let's not get into that right now. I believe you were about to teach me a game."

I let an evil grin creep onto my face, a maniacal laugh escaping at the same time. "I never said I was going to teach you. I said you were going to learn." And with that I began to replicate the events that had transpired the previous day five floor up, until five o'clock and he had to leave to take his mom grocery shopping or something.

Today, we'd picked up where we left off, promptly at oh-nine-hundred, as Papa would say. From my readings of Mama's diary I have discovered that her usual witty comeback to Papa's use of military time was "oh-why-bother, no one talks normal around here." Having grown up around it, I didn't find a problem with it. It was certainly very efficient. But this was Mama, if the stories I'd heard over the last week were true then she was anything but efficient for the sake of efficiency.

It was now mid afternoon and my mind was starting to wander big time. I had so much new information floating around in my head that I was still trying to process.

"Magenta." Carter was calling my name, waving a hand in front of my face. "Did I set it up right?" he asked when I snapped my attention back to the present.

I carfully looked over the cards laid between us on the desk and nodded my approval. "Perfect," I informed him. "You'll be winning against Bobby and Lester before you know it." We began to play and, I don't like to toot my own horn, but TOOT TOOT TOOT! I was winning!

Until I got a phone call.

While I was distracted, digging my cell out of my pocket, Carter made a sneaky play that I didn't notice until _after_ I'd simultaneously greeted the caller and taken my next turn. I glared at him as Meli's excited voice filled my ears, but I was secretly proud.

"You have to meet me at the Mega Plex," Meli announced.

"Why?" I asked, scrutinising my options for my next turn.

"Because I said!" she exclaimed exasperatedly.

"When was the last time I took orders from you?" I asked patiently, laying my cards down in an elaborate fashion then poking my tongue out at Carter.

"Just the other day," she said, sounding triumphant. "I told you to come online and you did."

Rolling my eyes I replied, "I was already in the process of signing in when I got your text."

"Fine," she said, "You don't take orders from me. Will you PLEASE meet me at Mega Plex?" It's important!"

I studied Carter's moves carefully as he slapped cards onto the table left, right and centre in rapid succession. He probably thought he could catch me off guard if he did it quickly. And since only half my mind was actually on the game, he was probably right.

"Is it life and death?" I asked her, just as the front door opened to admit two women.

She seemed to consider my question a moment, which gave me time to first, take my next turn, and second, scrutinise the women standing just inside the door.

They were both slim and good looking in a nondescript kind of way. Nothing overly special about either of them. One was average height with short auburn hair, sunglasses hiding half her face and a pretty little mouth. She had on a nice suede jacket and jeans, teamed with a pretty impressive pair of boots. Her counterpart was on the short side, just reaching the other's shoulder. Her hair was blonde, her eyes were brown and she looked rather surprised by what she was seeing (the inside of the building). She too was dressed rather casually in jeans and a sweater.

My bet was that they weren't here for a security consult, but then who was I to judge? When I was going out to a nice restaurant I didn't allow a brush or comb anywhere near my hair for at least three hours before leaving the house.

Speaking of my hair, Auntie Mare had worked wonders on it today, straightening it to within an inch of its life and fashioning it into a very normal looking pony tail. As far as I could tell nothing had fallen out yet, which is a major achievement for my hair.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched Carter discreetly push our game to the side, clearing his work space to appear more respectable. Admittedly, looking respectable at the reception desk was not a full time necessity, since we usually have fair warning if someone is going to come through the front door.

"It's more of a life thing than a death thing," Meli said, reminding me that she was still there. "You know, like, do you still have a life? Since I haven't seen you in ages?"

"Meli, please," I responded. "It's been, like, a week."

"Can I help you, ladies?" Carter asked. I glanced at him and he made a shooing motion, then quickly returned a soulful gaze to the women. I rolled my eyes at him and scooted my chair away, abandoning it a few feet from the desk and making my way over to the file cabinet. I hoisted myself up on top of it and settled cross legged with my back against the wall.

"A week is way too long, Gen!" Meli exclaimed. "We're supposed to be on vacation. That means we spend heaps of time together before our forced separation."

"We're looking for Ranger," the blonde informed Carter, stepping up to the desk. "We'd like a meeting with him."

"I can't believe you're being so selfish," I told Meli. "You know what I've been through in the last week. It's been really hard for me to simply wrap my head around things." Just like it was getting hard to keep my mind on the conversation. I kept getting distracted by the women.

"Which is exactly why you should meet me at Mega Plex in half an hour. I've heard all about your discoveries, but you haven't given me a chance to tell you my news."

"You're right," I told her. "I'll ask if I can go and then call you back, but I don't think I can make it in half an hour. Maybe an hour."

The line was dead practically before I'd finished speaking.

As I stuffed the phone back into my pocket, I noticed that one of the women was staring at me. It wasn't the blonde. No, the blonde was too busy studying her surroundings. It was the taller of the two. She was looked at me like I'd confused her, so I guessed she didn't speak much English and my liberal use of the word "like" where it wasn't needed had thrown her off. Although, her compadre seemed fine with the language.

I gave her a reassuring smile as I slid off the cabinet and came to stand beside Carter. Leaning over him, I typed a quick message into the open document on the computer.

_I'm gonna tell Papa you're mooning over prospective clients._

He didn't even seem to look at the screen, but replied with a quickly typed message of his own.

_I'll pay for your movie ticket if you keep your mouth shut._

_Done, _I typed and skipped off toward the elevator.

"Is she your little sister?" I heard one of the women ask as I pressed the call button repeatedly. I turned to find that the blonde was now also staring at me, but not with the same confused expression. Instead, she looked curious. "She looks a bit like you. Same hair colour and complexion."

"Carter, where's the elevator?" I called.

"Aren't you on an elevator ban?" he responded.

"Aww! Come on!" I locked eyes with him, trying to silently warn him not to say I was the boss's kid. It was an unspoken rule in the building that if outsiders spotted me and asked about my presence and purpose there, they were never to mention my relation to Papa.

"Sorry, kiddo," he said. "I don't make the rules. I just enforce them."

"Please?" I tried, still attempting mental communication.

"Use the stairs," he said. "And don't go complaining to Grandma Ella that I made you climb them. I've seen the amount of sweets you eat, the exercise will do you good." Then he promptly returned his attention to the ladies.

I trudged into the stairwell, thankful that he'd caught onto my wave length, or perhaps had been drilled on what to do if such a situation were to arise. Stopping just inside the stairwell, I pressed my ear to the door just to make sure he didn't slip up.

"Sorry about that," I heard Carter say. "School holidays."

"Is she a relation of yours?" one of the women asked – I think it was the blonde again.

"She kind of belongs to all of us here at Rangeman," he replied on a laugh. "She's a foster kid that got dumped a few too many times. The housekeeper is looking after her until we can find a better solution.

"I had no idea you did that kind of thing here," the same woman commented. "I thought you were just security and surveillance."

"We generally don't," Carter replied. "But she won a few hearts over when the boss brought her here to get cleaned up, and we haven't been able to turn her away." There was genuine affection in his voice as he said the stretched truth, and it made a small lump form in my throat and some butterflies started dancing in my stomach. I nodded my approval of his story and ran up the stairs until I reached the command floor.

!

Papa wasn't in his office or, in fact, anywhere on the floor. After searching for all of about a minute, I gave up and sat in an empty chair by the guys watching the monitors. They were all appropriately glued to the their allotted screens and didn't acknowledge my presence at first. I was used to this. It was what separated my favourites, from the ones that were really afraid of Papa.

"There's two women in the lobby," I informed them. I assumed at least one of them would already know, since there were security cameras in every corner of the building they too were monitored here.

"Yep," said the Lost Boy furthest down the bank.

"Did Papa have a meeting set up with two women?" I asked.

"Nope." This time it was one of the guys in the middle that spoke. His name was Saurus ...or Saunders. Something like that.

"They look kinda suspicious, don't you think?"

"A little bit," one said.

"You let Papa know they're here yet?"

"Not yet," the one down the end spoke again.

"You gonna let him know?"

"When he's available."

"When's that?"

"In a while."

I rolled my eyes. See what I mean about boring? I can't keep this kind of conversation up for any kind of extended period of time. It'd kill me. "Where is Papa?" I asked

"In a meeting."

"Thank you Captain Obvious."

"You're welcome Lieutenant Sarcasm," they said in creepily perfect unison

I shot them all a glare and moved on. "So you haven't just texted him to let him know?"

"No."

Sighing, I held out my hand to the closest Lost Boy. "Give me your cell phone, I'll handle this."

Finally, he turned to look at me. "Use your own cell phone," Cal told me.

"But it's company business," I informed him. "It should be conducted on a company phone."

Cal wasn't what you would call the brightest bulb in the box, which was part of the reason I liked him so much. He was like my personal lackey at times. I could convince him to do just about anything, including the things I knew for a fact I would get in major trouble for if I did them myself. Unfortunately for me, though, Cal was a squealer. Well, not a squealer perse, but he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut about the things I made him do. Perhaps his ignorance was an act and he just enjoyed getting me in trouble – gosh knows it's a possibility with the kinds of men Papa hires – or maybe he really was that dumb and didn't know what he was doing. Either way, he was the reason I was currently on a seemingly endless elevator ban.

My point is, he saw logic in my argument and the other guys had lost interest in the conversation and couldn't tell him I was full of bull-poopy. So he handed over his phone and I quickly punched a message in and sent it to Papa's phone.

_Two suspicious women in the lobby asking for you. P.S. Can I go to the movies._

I then pocketed his phone and slipped away when he wasn't looking in order to go exploring. The chances of me finding Tank, Lester or Bobby were definitely in the range of zero to one percent, but I felt sure that there would be at least one person on the floor who was worthy of my attention. And provided I avoided Gazz's office I could have a hunky dory time hanging about with the Lost Boys.

The guy was a complete control freak, I swear. He has the ability to make some of the men cower in fear. Once, I heard that he tried to tell Papa that he should forgo field work until he caught up on the month he was behind in paperwork. As you can imagine, that didn't go over too well. Gazz doesn't deal directly with Papa anymore. He makes polite requests via email and memos but avoids face to face contact at all costs. I think he thinks that if Papa sees his nerdy little face again he'll be out of a job. And Gazz really likes bossing around what he calls "meat heads".

I guess I understand where he's coming from with the whole "meat heads" thing, but he obviously hasn't played Sherades or Cranium with these guys. They're like, experts at some of that stuff. So they can't spell very well and have a tendency to use fragmented sentences when doing up their reports. Who cares? They know enough to get the essentials out. And they're MY meat heads.

I was just approaching Junior's cubicle when I heard the unmistakable nasally voice of the one and only Gazz call across room, "You shouldn't be on this floor unsupervised."

As always, when a comment like this is made, I assume it's being made in my direction by a newby who doesn't know any better. But Gazz knows I have full access to everything but the guy's locker room and the interrogation chambers. I turned to see who he was talking to and spotted Diesel, hands in pockets, leaning back on his heels with an easy expression on his face. I had to admire how casual he was most of the time. After living in a building full of ex-mils most of my life and spending holidays with a cop I sometimes forget that not all men are up tight and serious. Of course, Papa and the Lost Boys could have their moments, and even Dad was known to be cool on the occasion.

But Diesel.

It was like he just didn't care about anything. Probably, you could wield and axe in his face and he'd blink at you and yawn. Or maybe do his disappearing act at the last second if he thought you were getting too close. Either way, it was amusing to watch him interact with one of the most stick-in-the-mud type people I'd ever met.

"I'm not unsupervised," Diesel pointed out, gesturing around the area. "Every one of the men on this floor has their eyes on me."

Gazz's face grew a little red. Clearly, Diesel was testing his control. "You should have an escort."

Diesel let a grin creep onto his face at that comment. He leaned in close to Gazz and _nudged_ him with his forearm. "I didn't think Ranger approved of that kind of thing," he snickered.

Just then, Cal's phone buzzed with a text from Papa. I flipped it open to read.

_Genny-Babe, give Cal his phone back. You can go, but take Junior with you. And don't forget to wear your panic button._

Grinning from ear to ear, despite the fact that I was being made to wear the stupid panic button , I skipped to the doorway of Junior's cubicle. When he looked up in question, I tossed him Cal's phone. "Give that back to Cal and meet me out front of the building in five minutes," I said. "We're going to the movies. I say we take a discreet car. No SUVs please." And promptly scampered off.

On my way back across the floor, I stopped by Gazz's office where Diesel was now lounging in a visitor's chair.

"Hey Diesel," I said, pausing to take in the scene. Gazz was grinding his teeth as he typed on his computer. Every now and then he would glance at the man sprawled in the corner, his eye twitching. "I'm going to the movies, wanna tag along? You can keep Junior company. Plus, I think if you stay here much longer, Gazz is gonna throw his favourite pen at your face, and then he'd be even more upset, because he really likes that pen, and wouldn't want it covered in your blood."

Much to my surprise, Diesel shrugged and got up to follow me. I hadn't expected him to agree to come. He trailed behind me as I went all the way up to the apartment to grab my purse and panic button and on the way back down seemed to scrutinise me out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" I asked when we were approaching the lobby landing. "What is it? Is there something on my face?"

"Nothing," Diesel said. "I was just thinking you looked really weird with your hair so straight."

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	34. Pa pa pa oo mow mow, pa pa oo mow mow

_This chapter is brought to you by my urge to feel like I'm doing something constructive. I probably SHOULD have been working on my crochet stomach plushie, but I couldn't concentrate long enough to work out what I was doing pattern wise, so I decided to work on my writing. I wrote half of this chapter while simultaneously plotting for my original fiction, cos I'm a girl and I can multi-task -*satisfied grin*-. Other things that bring you this chapter include the Internet, and the Letter B._

**Chapter 34**

I was ambushed the moment I stepped out of the car. Junior, began to panic as I was tackled and pinned to the ground, but relaxed some when he recognised the dark hair and less than normal dress as Meli. While I was still struggling to regain my breathing habits, she helped me to my feet, a huge grin on her face, and led me to the entrance of the megaplex.

"I have something really important to tell you," she informed me. "I hope you'll take it okay. I've been gearing up for it all week."

I didn't have a chance to reply before I felt an arm drop over my shoulders. Looking up, I saw Diesel's smiling face gazing down at me. "What are we talking about?" he asked. "Are we gonna see a movie or what? You're not gonna make me sit through a chick flick are you?"

Meli's golden eyes widened as she took in the man so casually draped over my shoulder and I knew what she was thinking when her gaze started roving and she jaw slackened. Diesel was _hot_. And we're not just talking hot. We're talking super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot... in a disgusting over thirty, I could never be with him because it'd be weird kinda way. When he noticed her attentions he let his dimples shine through and I don't know about her, but I nearly fainted at the sight of them.

"Oh. My. GODS!" Meli exclaimed, clamping down on my arm and dragging me a few feet away. "Is that your boyfriend?" she asked sternly. "I swear on all that I hold sacred, if that is your boyfriend I am going to... I don't know what I'm going to do... faint? Go insane? It's a hard decision. He's soooooo yummy!" She glanced over my shoulder and sent a finger wave his way. "Tell me he's not your boyfriend," she demanded, returning her attention to me. "He's too old." Then she groaned. "He doesn't work for your Papa does he? You know that'll just end in disaster."

"Relax," I said, glancing back at Diesel to find him rocking back on his heels, hands in pockets, smiling a very satisfied smile. "He's not my boyfriend. He was a friend of Mama's. He was with her when she was pregnant with me. He brought this huge memory box Mama wanted me to have, you should see it."

Meli eyed me suspiciously. "You're sure he's not your boyfriend and you're not just formulating a cover story?"

"I promise," I told her solemnly, dragging her back to where Diesel was standing. Junior was a few feet away, scanning our surroundings like the good guard dog he was. I introduced Meli and Diesel to each other and we continued toward the entrance of the building. Diesel walked a pace behind us as Meli linked her arm in mine and pretty much bounced all the way. "So what is it you wanted to tell me?" I asked, curiosity finally getting the better of me as we lined up to buy our tickets.

Suddenly, she looked nervous, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. Of course, both Diesel and Junior were paying attention to our conversation, Diesel even adding his two cents worth here and there. Eventually, she just grimaced and asked, "Can I tell you later?" she sent a weird look in the guys' direction and quickly changed the subject. "I heard that Trevor Bales is thinking of asking you out," she informed me. "I can't say I'm surprised. He asks about you every English lesson."

"Who's Trevor Bales?" Diesel asked curiously as we moved forward in the line.

"Only the hottest guy in our grade," Meli enthused. "I remember in kindergarten, he once pushed Gen face down in the sand box. Then in third grade, I remember he rammed her into a wall during a game of red rover and wouldn't let her up until she kneed him in the balls. That wasn't his condition, he wanted her to kiss him or something, but she kneed him in the balls instead. Last year, at the school dance he-."

I clamped my hand over her mouth before she could go into the embarrassing tale of how he'd managed to take a photo of my panties, make a gazillion copies and post them all through school. It would have been alright, but that particular night, I had decided to wear my purple underwear with the cartoon duckies printed all over. I would have died of mortification, if it hadn't been for Lester and Bobby doing a walkthrough of the school after the dance finished. The photos didn't last long, and Trevor was given a very stern warning.

"Diesel doesn't need to hear that story," I intoned to Meli as she moved to the ticket window.

"Yes, Diesel does," Diesel said merrily, grinning from ear to ear as he regarded my probably beet red face. "It was obviously embarrassing. Did her dry hump you? Give you a wet willie? Touch you lovely lady lumps? Not that I'm looking at them or anything, I just know what I was like when I was fourteen and touching a girls breast was definitely high up on my to-do list."

I hid my face in my hands when he started laughing, but not before I saw Junior's eyes widen. People generally didn't dare to talk like that around me, especially when I had one of my body guards around. All my life, people had been watching their p's and q's around me. Except at school where I heard p's and q's all day long and even – don't let Papa and Dad know this or I'd be punished to within an inch of my adolescence – joined in with a few of my own.

Diesel followed me to the ticket window when it was my turn, and just as I pulled out Carter's money, he slid a twenty to the woman.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, staring up at him incredulously. "I can pay for my own ticket."

He flashed his teeth in an almost bone melting smile. "Here's the deal," he said so that only I could hear. "If you let me pay for your ticket, I won't pester you about what Trevor did at the school dance. If you don't let me pay, I expect full disclosure." He held my gaze for a moment until I stuffed the money back into my pocket and folded my arms over my chest.

The lady behind the glass looked from Diesel to me and back to Diesel before she asked, "Two?" He sent her a smouldering look in reply and she giggled as she ripped the tickets off the machine and handed them t o us. I rolled my eyes at her antics. He wasn't that irresistible.

We settled into our customary back row seats that practically had our but prints in them from last summer when we caught a movie every other day. Diesel and Junior sat on my left, Meli on my right. I had a huge tub of popcorn balanced on my lap and Meli was grabbing handfuls every three seconds to stuff into her mouth. We chatted quietly about this and that through the previews and just as the opening titles started rolling, she leaned over to whisper in my ear just as someone plopped down in the seat beside her.

"I'm bisexual," she said. "This is my girlfriend."

"_What?"_ I exclaimed, turning around in my seat to stare at her as she greeted the slim girl with a light kiss on the lips. A chorus of shhh's met my exclamation but I waved them away in irritation, like they were interrupting something, not me. And quite frankly, they were. My best friend had just very casually informed me that she liked girls as well as guys before greeting her _girlfriend_. "What did you say?" I asked.

I watched her roll her eyes in the dim light and indicate that she was trying to watch the movie. The girl on her other side leaned in front of her and extended her hand with a confident smile. "Hi," she said quietly. "I'm-."

"Hailey?" I asked surprised, earning me another bout of shhh's. "Hailey Stewart? You're Meli's-."

"Oh my GODS!" Hailey breathed. "Magenta! This is so great! You know, I was just thinking about you this mor-."

"You two know each other?" Meli interrupted, looking from my shocked face to Hailey's ecstatic one. "How do you two know each other?" She seemed almost irritated.

Hailey sat back in her seat and grabbed Meli's hand. "Magenta and I go to the same school. We're in all the same classes," she informed Meli happily. "We're even lab partners for chemistry."

"By which she means she sits idly on a lab stool while I do all the work she does all the absent minded humming."

Meli's face softened at that. "You hum absentmindedly in chemistry?" she asked in awe. "That's so cute!" And then they kissed. It was weird to watch, given that they both had boobs and stuff, but I was okay with it. Really. I had no problem at all with my best friend being gay. I guess deep down I'd suspected something for a while now. Inner Gaydar at work? Maybe.

"What's going on down there?" Junior asked, leaning forward to try to get a look at what was happening. He wasn't here to watch a movie. He was here to make sure I didn't get killed. Or harmed in any way.

Diesel whispered something to Junior, his eyes never once leaving the giant screen in front of us, and Junior immediately sat back in his seat, staring straight ahead. We too, returned our attention to the movie, leaving thoughts of gay best friends until much later.

!

"What's the word?" I asked Carter as I strolled into lobby a couple of hours later with Diesel in tow.

"Bird," Carter replied, typing away at his computer.

This confused me greatly. "What?" I asked, glancing around the room to make sure I wasn't disturbing the peace.

Before Carter could answer, Diesel was singing behind me. "_A-well-a everybody's heard about the bird. B-b-b-bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word. A-well-a bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word. A-well-a bird, bird, bird, well the bird is the word."_

I looked at him, aghast, before finally managing to say, "Please tell me that's not a real song. And if it is, that's not the only words." I looked between the two men, hoping they would quell my fears.

"It's a real song," Carter said matter-of-factly just as Diesel's cell phone rang.

He answered with a very lovey-dovey, "Hey there sugar-pumpkin," so I assumed it was his wife again. His face grew serious as he listened for a moment. "You're kidding," he said flatly. "Tell me you're kidding. Tell me you didn't do what you just said you did." He listened some more. "I _know_ what I said, but honey, this isn't what I meant. I meant plan a trip to-." Janelle must have interrupted him because he stopped his unfinished sentence abruptly. "No. Of course I'm not angry. It's just. I haven't cleared up the other issue yet." Another pause while he listened. "I'm trying. It's not as easy a task as it sounds though... Where are you?... I'm on my way. We'll talk this out in private." He hung up and turned to me. "I'll be back later."

And without so much as a poof, or a smoke screen, he disappeared. I blinked and he was gone. I don't think I'll ever get used to that.

* * *

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	35. Ghost of Random Scenes Past

I have to say, this chapter was surprisingly easy to write compared to the last one. Can you believe it took me three days to write the scene where Meli told Gen she was bi? It was ridiculous. Anyway, I suspect this chapter was so easy because Diesel hijacked it. It certainly wasn't what I was expecting when I started out. Happy reading.

**Chapter 35**

"What went down with those ladies?" I asked, plonking down on the couch in the break room between Lester and Bobby. "What did they want?"

"Ranger couldn't fit them in," Tank replied, grabbing a water from the fridge and joining us. "Carter organised them an appointment for next week. Why are you so interested?"

I shrugged. I really had no idea why I was so interested. The best I could do was that I was in the habit of asking more questions than usual of late. It felt like I was starting every conversation with a question. I wonder how long I can keep that habit up before I get stuffed in the washing machine? Actually, I wonder if I still fit in the washing machine. When I was younger, Taylor, one of the younger additions to the Lost Boys at the time, would stuff me in the washing machine down the hall from the control room when I got too annoying. He called it reverse hide and seek, or something. Looking back I don't really see the logic in it, and I'm fairly certain I knew we weren't playing a game, despite him making out like we were.

"I guess I'm just curious," I said and swivelled my body so that my feet were resting in Lester's lap and I was leaning against the side of Bobby's chest. "So Papa's still in meetings?" And a smooth topic change executed by yet another question. They all nodded. "Any idea when he'll be done?"

"Another couple of hours at least," Lester said, looking at his watch.

I grabbed up Bobby's arm, which was resting on my stomach and checked his watch. It was five o'clock. Papa would probably make it home at about seven-thirty, at which point he would grab a small bite to eat for dinner and go off to his home office to finalise some stuff on his computer before going to bed. The chances of me spending any amount of quality time with the man were slim to zilch, not that I wasn't used to this kind of occurrence. The year I turned thirteen he'd started extending the amount of time he spent working. He was no longer walking through the door to the apartment at exactly ten past five in the evening.

I was still musing over Papa's work habits when Carter walked through the door.

"Front door is locked up for the night," he reported, grabbing a bottle of water and sitting down on the couch across from Lester, Bobby and I. He set the special deck of cards that I'd left with him this afternoon on the coffee table. "And I challenge you to a game of your own creation."

Lester and Bobby both looked at me and I shrugged again, just managing to jump of the couch before Lester's massive hands grabbed for me. I crossed the space to perch on the arm of Tank's chair and waved my hand in an indication for them all to proceed.

Bobby flicked through the deck Carter had presented, inspecting them closely at a much slower rate than Carter had when I'd first handed him the cards. He then handed them to Lester, who also looked through the stack of cards before placing them back on the table, spearing Carter with a narrow eyed glare.

"Deal," he simply said, nudging the cards to him.

An hour and a half later they were playing two against one, on the same hand that originally started as Lester versus Carter. Bobby and Lester were hunched over their hand, looking anxiously from it to the table and back. It looked as if there wasn't a whole lot they could do at this point, and Carter seemed to be catching their "oh damn" vibes. There was a huge grin plastered on his face as he finished off his meatball sub and placed the wrapper on the table with everyone else's – we'd sent Cal for subs after about forty-five minutes, as the break room had begun to fill with Rangemen coming off shift.

"Do you forfeit yet?" Carter asked.

"No," Bobby said flatly. "We can't forfeit."

"Our reputations depend on this," Lester added

I leaned over the back of the couch behind them, looking over their shoulders. Not necessarily to see if I could help, more to see just how jiggered they were. I was assessing their ability to screw up at their own game when there was collective intake of breath throughout the room. At first I thought it was just Papa entering the break room and everyone noticing that they hadn't hidden their fast food wrappers. Then a nicely tanned hand reached over my shoulder, plucked a card from Lester's hand and threw it down on the table. Definitely not Papa's hand.

"Diesel?" I asked without turning around.

"Yep," Tank said.

"He just appeared directly behind me, didn't he?"

"Sure did," Carter replied, staring in open mouthed awe. "How does he do that?"

"And how does he know how to play this game?" Bobby added.

I looked around the guys. "Why are we talking like he isn't here?" I turned to look at Diesel, but he was gone. "Dang it! I'm definitely never gonna get used to that. Why did he disappear again?" Before anyone could answer my question Diesel had reappeared before me, grabbed me by the arms and...

The lights went off and I felt like I was being suffocated. I wanted to scream but couldn't gather enough breath to do so. I wanted to thrash my limbs about to assure myself that everything that was supposed to be around me was still there, but I couldn't feel them. All I could feel was Diesel's hands on my upper arms, firm yet gentle at the same time. It was terrifying. I was trying to wrap my head around what was going on when suddenly light was spearing my eyes. I blinked rapidly and felt my stomach roll and my knees go weak. Diesel still held on to my shoulders as the bile rose in my throat, so it was all I could do to lean forward a little and vomit. All over his shoes. Again.

"What is with you?" Diesel asked, exasperated. "Do you dislike my shoes? Is that it? Would you like to tell me what's wrong with them?"

I shook my head, trying to keep the rest of my dinner down as the room spun again. "What did you do to me?" I managed to choke out, wiping sweat from my forehead. "What just happened?" He didn't answer as he toed off his shoes and carefully led me to a chair to sit down. It was then that I noticed we were the only two in the room, and that room wasn't the break room anymore. I couldn't help the panic that rose within me as I looked around the unfamiliar surroundings. "Where am I?" I demanded. "Where have you taken me? What do you want!"

Diesel leaned against the desk in front of me. "Calm down," he said. "Watch." He waved his hand slowly in front of his face and the lighting in the room changed. It was more dim, just a single lamp on the desk glowing. I could hear faint noises coming from what must have been a hallway outside the room. As they became louder I realised it was actually a very animated, very melodic voice. Just one voice. She must have been on the phone.

Looking around the room anew, seeking a place to hide, I took in the 'lived in' couch that didn't match the armchair. The pale wood coffee table just peeking out from a under a load of laundry and a dozen stuffed animals. In the corner beside the television was a purple toy box that had been left open and had toys hanging out of it. I spied a few princess dolls and deduced that the child that lived here was probably a girl. And judging by the early start educational toys spread across the floor, I would say she was just a baby.

Having let my eyes wander too long, I was left with absolutely no time to duck and hide when a shadow spilled over the threshold. I tensed as I watched the woman enter, talking enthusiastically to a sweet little girl with dark curls perched on her hip. Amazingly, she did not notice the two intruders in her home. At all. Thinking perhaps she was simply absorbed in the child's big, gummy grin, I spoke up to make an excuse for our presence.

"Um, hi," I started, really unsure of what I was going to say to explain to her that we'd simply _popped in._ "I'm really sorry about , um... well.. about us being here I suppose... I didn't really have a say in the ma-."

"She can't here you," Diesel said quietly. "She can't see you either. She doesn't know we're here."

"How can she not know we're here?" I demanded. "We're sitting in her living room!"

Diesel shook his head slightly. "Not her living room. She doesn't live here."

"Look," I said sternly. I was starting to get very frustrated now that my fear had worn off and my stomach was rolling as much. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Just watch. Please?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, but said nothing as I sat back in the chair more comfortably. The woman entered the room slowly, seeming to dance with the child at the same time. When she reached the circle of lamp light I finally got a good look at her. She look vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her face, nor her voice as she spoke softly to the baby she was placing on the floor near the coffee table.

"Do you think mommy will mind if I sort out her laundry?" she asked the little girl.

"Teddy," she said in reply, holding up a brown bear with a pink ribbon.

"That's right!" the woman enthused. "Would Teddy like to help fold laundry?"

"Teddy," she said again, pulling herself up on the coffee table and dragging Teddy to the woman.

I leaned forward to rest my arms on the desk and glanced at Diesel. There was a soft smile forming on his face. "Do you know her?" I asked, curiously taking in the twinkle beginning to shine in his eye.

He nodded, eyes fixed on the woman. "That's my wife."

"Janelle?" I asked, mentally slapping my forehead as I remembered all the photos he'd shown me. "Is that your daughter then?"

This time he shook his head from side to side, and cut his eyes to me. "That's you."

My mouth, I felt sure, was hanging open so wide that my jaw must have been about a millimetre above the floor. "How can that be me?" I asked. "I'm me... Aren't I?"

He chuckled at my uncertainty. "Have you ever seen A Christmas Carol?" I nodded, but didn't quite see the relevance until he added, "Think of me as the ghost of Christmas past. Except this isn't Christmas. This is just a random day in your life that I thought you might like to witness again."

Returning my attention to the woman and... myself... I watched with a new found interest. _This is what my life was like before Papa, _I thought. _This is where I lived with Mama._ Just like that the thought hit me: _Where was Mama?_ "If I'm here, where's Mama," I asked Diesel.

He didn't answer, simply got to his feet and held out his hand for me to take. I eyed it suspiciously for a moment, wondering if he was gonna make me do the disappearing act again. I'm pretty sure I didn't want that to happen, since I dislike throwing up almost as much as I dislike overly frilly dresses.

"I'm not gonna pop you anywhere," he assured me. "I'm just gonna lead you to where you Mama is. I promise." I looked from his face to his hands a couple more times before I finally took it and he led me out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. And there she was, sitting at the round table. Her head was resting in her hand as she leaned on the table top; in the other she held a pen, clicking it constantly. In front of her was a fresh piece of paper and several scrunched ones. There were used tissues littering the ground around her.

As I watched, she sniffed and pushed her curls away from her face. In the moment I could see her face before her hair fell back down to cover it I noted her bright blue eyes, shimmering with new tears and puffy from old ones. There were wet streaks down both her cheeks. Her nose was red and her mouth was set in a grim line. Obviously, she was upset.

"What's happened?" I asked Diesel. "Why is she crying?"

He picked up one of the scrunched pieces of paper and smoothed it on his leg, I noticed though, that despite him holding the piece of paper, it was still on the table. Pretty sure even the ghost of Christmas past couldn't do that. He handed me the paper and I read the words written there.

_Dearest Maggie,_

_I can't believe I have to write this. It's the hardest thing to ever happen in my life and it's breaking my heart to do so, but it needs to be done. I needed to let you know just how much you meant to me. Will always mean to me._

And then there were some words that were scribbled out again and again. I read the words twice, trying to understand what they meant and on the third time through it hit me. "She's writing the letter that came with the first memory box," I breathed, setting the paper back on the table and moving closer to my mother.

She had the pen poised over the paper and was staring resolutely at it, as if willing the words to appear on the page. She had hooked her hair behind her ear so that her entire was face was visible again. I took the opportunity to examine her features more closely and discovered it was just like looking into a mirror, except she was something like twenty years older than me and her skin tone was just a smidge lighter. Other than that though. The eyes, the hair, even the nose was almost identical.

I moved around the table and sat in a chair across from her. Close enough that I could pretend I was having a normal moment with my mother, but far enough away that I could remember that I couldn't interact with her.

"She's beautiful," I whispered, openly staring as she wiped her face on her sleeves and sat back from the table. She locked her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Just a moment. Barely long enough for her to have taken in the colour, really. And then she was on her feet pacing.

"I can't do this!" she cried out suddenly, stopping near the doorway. "I can't and I won't! I don't want to!"

"You'll regret it later if you don't," I heard Diesel say and turned to look at where his voice had come from, noticing that there were two of him. The Diesel who had brought me here was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest as watched the scene take place. The new Diesel – or rather, old Diesel... actually, technically _young_ Diesel... cripes this is confusing... – was seated in a cross legged position on the bench top. "You need to do this for your peace of mind," he told Mama. My Diesel looked over past-Diesel and nodded his approval at the stubble on his jaw and unbuttoned flannel shirt over plain white tee.

I rolled my eyes, focusing on what my mother was now saying.

"My peace of mind?" she asked, incredulous. "What peace of mind? I'm giving up my own flesh and blood because of some crazed lunatic who thinks I don't deserve to live or be happy. How am I supposed to find peace of mind in that?"

Past-Diesel shrugged his shoulders and slid to the floor, crossing the distance between where he'd perched and where my mother had stopped in two easy strides. "If you don't want to do this for yourself, do it for Maggie. I'm sure it will mean a lot to her in fourteen years time to know that you loved her and wanted her to know how you died." He led her back to the table and her abandoned stationary, easing her into the chair and crouching down next to her. He placed the pen in her hand and moved it toward the paper.

"I can't do this," Mama told him softly, and the tears I heard clogging her throat almost made me cry myself. "I can't tell my daughter lies."

"Sometimes people need to be told lies," Past-Diesel reasoned.

"Yes," Mama agreed, "But about their own mother's death?"

"Would you rather endanger her life?"

"How would telling her the truth endanger her?" she argued, throwing the pen down on the table again. "By the time she reads this it'll all be over anyway, right? So what's the harm?"

"The harm is, she'll be a teenager, and teenagers are impressionable. You can't tell her the truth in this letter. I'm sorry, it's just the way it is."

"Right," Mama said, nodding absently. "Impressionable teenager. Can't fill her head with fantasies of," she spun her hands around in the air vaguely, "all of this. So I have to lie to my daughter from 'beyond the grave," she air quoted. "I can't for the life of my think of how to phrase that. Hi, I'm you're dead mother that you probably don't remember at all, and I'm here to tell you that I love you and I died of an inoperable brain tumour."

"Anything sounds bad when you phrase it like that," Past-Diesel scoffed. He looked into her eyes solidly for a moment, thinking, before he stood and moved behind her. "Imagine she's sitting right there," he said, indicating to where I was sitting.

I cast panicked eyes to my Diesel. "Freeeeee-keeeeeeee," I said.

"I know," he intoned.

Past –Diesel continued, "What would you say to her if you could tell her in person?"

Mama scoffed at that, rolling her eyes at the same time. "I _can_ tell her in person, Diesel. She just won't comprehend or remember it."

"No," Past-Diesel said. "That's not what I meant. If you could talk to Maggie in fourteen years time, how would you explain the events of the past few weeks?"

"You mean how would I explain the events of the past few weeks that we're fabricating as a cover story to what actually happened in the past few weeks?" she asked

"Yes."

She sighed, suddenly looking very tired. "I guess I'd want to let her know how much I've enjoyed the time we've had together," she started, looking back at Past-Diesel.

"Don't tell me." He grabbed her head and gently turned it so that she was looking directly at me. "Tell Maggie."

Another sigh left her lips and she shook her head, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Maggie," she breathed, then glanced at Diesel again. He made a 'go on' gesture, and in return she made a 'shoo' gesture. "Can I have a moment alone?" she asked. "It's kinda awkward doing this with you looking over my shoulder." She waited for him to walk out the door before returning her gaze to me... I mean, the chair. "Maggie," she started again. "You can't believe how much I've adored the past year with you. Watching you grow. It involved a lot of smelly diapers and some random crying from both of us... er, the crying, I mean. Not the diapers. I use a toilet..." She laughed to herself then and added on the side, "I can't even talk straight to an imaginary fifteen year old."

With a shake of her head, she laid her hands on the table and continued, "I've loved every minute of our time together, but unfortunately, it seems we don't have much left." She paused to quickly write that down before she forgot it then lifted her head again. This time, she continued all the way through, telling me about her migraines and the doctor's visit, and finally the memory box. When she'd finished speaking it all out loud, she had tears in her eyes again, but was smiling softly as she transferred our one sided conversation to the paper I would receive in the future... or had received a couple of days ago. It all depends on how you looked at it.

Carefully, she folded the sheet in three and slipped into the box that had been sitting off on the counter and carried the lot out of the room. I scraped back my chair and followed with Diesel on my heels.

Back in the living room, Mama handed the box to Diesel solemnly. "I don't want her to have this until she's old enough to understand properly," she said. "Fifteen maybe."

"What about the letter about the poison you wrote for Ranger?" Janelle asked. "

Surprisingly, she pulled the letter in question from her back pocket and stared at it for a few moments. "He'll probably hate me for it," she sighed. "But I don't want him to have it until he's come to terms with my death completely. Any time in the first couple of years and the pain is going too be too fresh. He'll want to come after the guy himself. We have to wait until he's well and truly dead."

Janelle, was standing behind the couch with me (it still sounded weird to think about it like that) on her hip so that the three of them formed a bit a triangle. She was quite short, I noted. With beautiful gorgeous light brown hair and dark brown eyes. I stared at her as she spoke. "We should probably time it after the memory box," she said, nodding to the box in question. "There should be conditions that need to be met before we give him the letter."

"Magenta needs to be fifteen," Mama said.

"And she should have already received the memory box," Janelle added slowly. I was getting the sense that I'd seen her somewhere before, but not in the photos. I'd seen her moving. And walking. And her voice sounded familiar too...

_You've heard her on the phone_, my brain reminded me. But that didn't explain the rest of it. For now, I shook away the feeling and refocused on the conversation.

"The poison guy should be dead," Past Diesel contributed. "Long dead. Half decomposed... or maybe cremated. I wouldn't put it past him to dig up a body just to kick the shit out of it."

Mama chuckled lightly at that comment. "And it needs to be before it wears off," she said, her face turning sad again as she looked at baby me.

"That's hard to time," Diesel told her. "There's no way of knowing how long it will last. It depends on a myriad of factors, including state of mind and stress level. Not to mention how much resistance the mind puts up."

Somewhere in the course of a matter of seconds, I had lost the thread of conversation. I had no idea what they were talking about anymore. I shot a questioning look at my Diesel, but he shook his head and clasped my upper arms. "It's time for us to go," he told me and then everything suddenly went black again.

* * *

_To review? Or not to review? That is the question. Please, if you're reading this, drop me a line to let me know your thoughts. What's up with what they were talking about at the very end? WHO KNOWS?_


	36. Do You See What I see?

_For once, I don't really have anything to say here... Got a new computer, that's exciting, because it means I don't have to do battle with my computer to make it let me upload... My old one was like facing the Big Boss in a video game a million times a day. And that's just to check my emails. So you can probably imagine how frustrating typing was. BUT I PERSEVERED FOR YOU SAKE! Anyway, here's a stress free chapter._

**Chapter 36**

Carter's POV

I was well on my way to winning this blasted game against the combined efforts of Lester and Bobby when all hell broke loose. One minute there was an easy atmosphere. Everyone was lounging about at the end of a long day, just relaxing. There was a good amount of noise throughout the room as everyone got caught up and hung out. But suddenly everything was deathly quiet.

I looked up from the table where I was analysing future plays in time to watch a familiar man reach over Magenta's shoulder, pull a card from Lester's hand and throw it on the table. It was a good play. Completely messed all the plans I'd been making, I noted absently as Magenta stared at the retracting hand. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a moment before she seemed to make sense of it.

"Diesel?" she asked, not moving an inch. She was still leaning over the couch between Bobby and Lester, and her face was still turned in the direction of the cards they held. I was impressed with the amount of calm she maintained, given some recent events I had accidentally heard about while passing Tanks office a few days ago.

Tank confirmed her guess with a short, "Yep," and I wondered what he was like at home. He never spoke like that to me, or any of the other new recruits. He was always very authoritative and kinda drill sergeanty. With the upper strata of men he was more casual with his attitude, but still authoritative. Everyone seemed to take commands from him. But just now with Magenta, it was almost as if he were any other guy on the street. He just handed her a 'yep' like they were best buds and no one was in charge or had a job to do at all. It was an amazing transformation to witness and I could help the urge to observe more interactions between the two of them.

"He just appeared directly behind me, didn't he?" Magenta asked, raising her head and consequently catching my gaze in the process.

"Sure did," I replied, staring at the man. It was the only logical explanation, even if it wasn't so logical. One minute he wasn't even in the room, and the next he was there. I was about to ask about the unusual talent when he suddenly disappeared again. "How does he do that?" I asked the crowd instead.

"And how does he know how to play this game?" Bobby added.

Her brow furrowed as she took in what we'd said. "Why are we talking like he isn't here?" Quickly she turned around, obviously searching for the man in question. "Dang it!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "I'm definitely never gonna get used to that. Why did he disappear again?"

In the second it took me to formulate my response to her question – "No idea" – Diesel had reappeared, grabbed Magenta by the shoulders and popped out again. That's when the gates of hell seemed to open up, just below our building.

"Where did she go?" someone asked.

"Who was that?" a guy to my left whispered, I recognised the voice as one of my fellow newbies.

I was about to reply when, as one, Tank, Bobby and Lester all breathed, "Fuck."

Dominic bolted into the room at that moment, blurting hurriedly, "The computers are doing something funky. All the monitors for the Rangeman building are scrambled. What do I -." He stopped mid sentence and looked around the shocked faces. "What? What happened?"

"Magenta's disappeared," Tank informed him. "Don't worry about the monitors they'll return to normal in a minute or so. I want you to check all the offices and cubicles in the control room, Hernandez, you go with him. You three," he pointed to three guys that had been grouped around the small table near the door. Take the below ground floor. Check every single room. Storage included."

"But you need a pass key to get into that area and neither of them has-."

"Check anyway," Tank barked. All casualness had completely left him. This was Commander Tank. Giving orders and expecting no back talk. "Phil, Cal, Hal and Tate, basement. Jordan, Zero and Trent, check the private offices on the lower floors." Men were scurrying out of the break room as their assignments were given. "Lester and Bobby, seventh floor. Gizmo, notify Ella and Louis and help them check their apartment. Sparky, garage. Connell, lobby. You," he pointed at a guy, clearly forgetting his name. "Check all the conference rooms. Except four. We don't need Ranger breathing down our necks just yet. The rest of you, every single apartment. Check them. Check them twice. Pretend you're Santa Clause. I don't care. GO!"

I was at the very back of a throng of other Rangemen on their way out the door to seek and destroy. Maybe not destroy, but this was definitely something like an epic game of hide and seek. I was usually an expert at hide and seek, but somehow I knew I couldn't use my usual methods of finding the hiders. There would be no analysing air flow and fabric drape. No Calculating space. And worst of all, no little indicators that I could look out for to lead me to their hiding spot. In this game, I was as much at a disadvantage as anyone else. I was almost over the threshold when one large, dark hand pulled me back into the room.

"Tell me everything," Tank demanded, crossing his massive arms over his chest and planting his size larger-than-life boots firmly apart.

Confused, I began to sputter out the first coherent thought that popped into my mind. "I'm not involved."

He startled me by rolling his eyes. _He rolled his freaking eyes!_ "What did you see? What did you notice? And while you're at it, tell me about the ladies that came in today."

I felt like a flaming gold fish, standing there with my mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Tank was talking to me. Not barking. Not ordering. Not commanding. Not sneering. He was talking. Like we were semi-equals. I know I shouldn't be shocked by this, but it was a little hard to take so soon after witnessing the interaction with Magenta.

"I need you to focus, Carter," he said calmly, uncrossing his arms to appear more relaxed. I noted that none of the tension in his shoulders and back had eased though. This was a man on the edge pretending he wasn't. "I know you notice things others don't. What did you notice about Diesel? It doesn't matter how insignificant it seems, I want to hear it. And everything you took in when you interacted with the women in the lobby earlier today."

Nodding, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment. "Tension lines around the eyes and mouth," I said. "Jerky movements. I'm not expert, but my guess is he's recently been in an argument." He was nodding thoughtfully as he led me to the small table and sat down. I thought for a moment, but couldn't think of anything else that was out of the ordinary to say about Diesel and his behaviour. Suddenly Magenta's facial expression just before she disappeared popped into my mind. "She was scared," I told Tank. "She didn't know what was happening. Wasn't expecting it. I don't think she was used to Diesel touching her either."

"She only met him a couple of days ago," Tank informed me unnecessarily. Magenta had told me all about her week, skipping over the embarrassing events of her hallucinations. "And given recent events, I think her reaction was pretty acceptable." I agreed quietly, still thinking of Diesel. "Tell me about the ladies, then. Was there anything unusual?" I looked at him for the first time since sitting down. "Apart from the fact that they came into the building without having an appointment or giving us prior warning. Yeah, I know it's unusual. I've spent my fair share of time at the reception desk."

"The short blonde was wearing a wig," I told him with certainty When he looked at me weird I explained, "It was a very good wig. She might have gotten away with it if anyone else had been manning the desk. Her eyebrows didn't match her hair colour; that was my first clue that she wasn't a natural blonde. What indicated it was a wig was that she kept scratching and tugging her hair. I doubt she'd been here before, she was looking around curiously at everything and her eyes widened when she first entered like she was surprised by what she saw. She did all the talking. Kept fidgeting.?

"Nervous?" he asked.

I nodded. "Probably. She could just be a fiddler. Some people are like that, like Magenta."

"What else?"

"The auburn haired beauty seemed more familiar with her surroundings. Nervous none-the-less. Her hair was her own, but it wasn't her natural colour either. I could see her regrowth. She seemed confused about something if I read her expressions right."

"You don't know what it was?"

Shaking my head, I ran a hand through my hair. It was a habit it had developed when I barely had any hair. I'd rub my head when I was thinking. As my hair grew out it turned into finger combing. "She didn't say a word the entire time she was there. Like I said, the short one did the talking."

We were silent for a minute or so. I was trying to remember more details that might help Tank in whatever he was trying to do right now. Tank was probably trying to piece information together. The silence was finally broken by a familiar voice that I felt sure neither of us wanted to hear at that moment.

"Is Magenta back from the movies yet?" Ranger asked from behind me. He sounded tired, which I didn't doubt, since he'd had to sit through seemingly endless meetings all day.

"Yes... and no...," I replied hesitantly at the same time as Tank spun a confident lie: "She's having dinner with Meli."

We'd been caught. One of us was lying. Now he was going to try and figure out which one. My guess was that this was a problem for both of us, because (a) Tank had lied, and (b) Ranger scared the shit out of me. Usually, I didn't scare easily, but I'd seen him a totally of two times since I'd joined the Rangeman team. And he always looked angry. Apart from that there was my less than encouraging interview during which time he simply stared at me, occasionally barking questions. I was starting to think he didn't like me.

He crossed to the table and placed his palms flat on the surface, leaning in intimidatingly. "It doesn't take an expert to know that one of you is lying," he said, looking pointedly at Tank. "What I need to know is _why_ you lied."

Genny's POV

I knew the moment we'd arrived back at Rangeman – or what I rightly assumed was Rangeman – because my stomach was churning and I almost fell over from dizziness. I was ready for the stomach upset this time, and managed not to vomit on anyone's shoes. I'd barely gained my feet when Diesel was unceremoniously thrusting me onto the couch. I figured he was afraid I'd get his feet this time, since I'd already ruined his shoes once today. In the next instant though, he was knocked to the ground by an entire body colliding with his.

"How dare you!" Auntie Mare seethed, sitting on his chest. "How fucking DARE you! Do you know how much grief you caused? I was out of my mind with worry! And it's all. Your. Fault." She punctuated the last three words with some forceful pokes to his forehead. "I should remove your manhood! So help me, if you've harmed a single hair on that girl's head I will make you wish you'd never been born."

"I'm fine, Auntie Mare," I croaked, still battling my nausea. But she wasn't listening. She was still threatening a bemused looking Diesel.

"I've done things to men who've hurt my Plum girls that would make your skin crawl," she was saying in an eerily quiet voice when Papa appeared in front of me.

He simply stared into my eyes for a few moments. I was trying to put on a brave face for him, but I felt like I was falling apart. The nausea wasn't easing like it had before and the strain of having watched my mother's emotional pain as she made preparations for my future was weighing down on me. Add to that the confusion caused by the last fragment of conversation I'd witnessed, and I was pretty much a wreck. I couldn't let it show though. I had to be strong. I'd already showed too much vulnerability this week.

"Are you okay?" Papa asked eventually, still scrutinising my face.

That was the end of my facade. The tears that had been stinging behind my eyes flowed over, tracking down my cheeks. Snot trickled from my nose and I hastily sniffed it back up and wiped the back of my hand across my nose. For a moment I just sat there pathetically, staring back into Papa's quietly concerned eyes.

"I feel horrible," I managed through my tears and flung my arms around his neck in a hug.

He simply held me for a moment, making soothing motions on my back. When he picked me up and stood, I wrapped my legs around his waist like I used to when I was six and he carried me up to the apartment, indicating for Bobby to follow.

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_Don't forget to review. And also, it probably goes without saying, but ya'll should probably stay on Mary Lou's good side._


	37. Past Present and Future

_I've been waiting for soooooo long to write this chapter! Since way before I set the vote! FINALLY! So I hope y'all enjoy it. It was written in between crocheting a pair of lungs for a friend, and baking and decorating Christmas cookies._

**Chapter 37**

"Can you tell me what happened?" Papa asked, sitting on the edge of his bed next to me. He'd already tucked me securely under the covers, provided me with a glass of flat lemonade and stationed a bucket by the bed just in case the contents of my stomach decided make a reappearance. I was feeling a little better, having yawned in a decidedly technicolour way the moment Papa set me down. Luckily we were in my bathroom at the time. Once I had stopped retching he'd carried me to his en suite where he ran a nice warm bath for me and left me to relax in it. When he was so obviously caring like this, it was hard to imagine him in battle, killing and injuring his enemies.

"You don't have to talk about it," Papa added when I'd been silent for a while. He brushed a lock of hair back from my forehead, surreptitiously checking my temperature at the same time, I'm sure. "But I'd like to know what happened."

"I saw Mama," I told him with a slight smile, and I knew I'd confused him even though his expression barely changed.

"What do you mean, you saw Mama?" he asked gently, taking my hand and rubbing his thumb gently across my palm. "Where did you go?"

"The past," I said. "I saw Mama. She was writing my letter. The one that came with the package. She didn't want to write it, but Diesel and Janelle were making her. She was sad."

Papa looked at me weirdly for a moment before shooting a look to the doorway where Bobby was waiting for instructions, having already cleaned up the mess I'd made in the other bathroom. I couldn't see Papa's face anymore, nor could I see Bobby's, since Papa's head was blocking the view, but I could feel the tension coming off them both in waves. Probably, they were thinking I was crazy. Like, totally loco. And I couldn't blame them for thinking that, sometimes I had similar thoughts about myself.

"Get Diesel up here," Papa eventually told him. His tone suggested he had some physical injury to cause.

"Don't hurt him, Papa," I implored, trying to sit up – I really was feeling much better now. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Papa abruptly turned to face me, and he had his blank face on. _Great._ "He didn't do anything wrong?" he asked, and I got the sense he was talking to me like I was seven again. "Sweetie, he kidnapped you. And possibly messed with your brain."

I rolled my eyes at that. He was definitely treating me like a seven year old. "Papa, please. I saw it. I was there. He took me to the past. Like in a Christmas Carol, remember we watched it a few Christmases ago? And the Ghost of Christmas Past takes Scrooge back in time to witness scenes from his childhood? That's what it was. I saw me as a baby and Mama and Janelle and Diesel.

"No one can travel to the past, Genny-Babe," he said in a tone one would use on an easily excited mental patient. It wasn't exactly the most endearing moment.

"I'm not crazy," I told him firmly. "It really happened. And if you don't believe me, I don't want to talk to you."

He sighed and his shoulders sagged a little. "I'm sorry, Gen."

"Do you believe me?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. If he said no I was going to go downstairs to Ella's and spend the night on her couch. I didn't want to talk to Papa if he wouldn't accept my story of what happened in the forty minutes I was gone. If he didn't believe me he didn't trust me. And what was the point of that? Wasn't he supposed to trust that I'd tell him the truth? Why would I lie about going to the past and witnessing my mother write a freaking letter? If I was going to make stuff like that up I couldn't probably choose a less mundane activity for my mother than writing a letter.

"I guess I have to," Papa eventually admitted. "You've got that 'accept it or I'll leave' look on your face." There was a moment of silence during which I managed to haul myself into a seated position, leaning against the headboard. "Tell me every detail you remember," he said once I was settled.

"Well," I started. "We turned up in the living room and I guess it was kind of half study as well, because there was a desk and chair in there as well. The furniture was all miss matched. There were toys overflowing from a toy box. A load of laundry on the coffee table." I then proceeded to tell him every last detail of my encounter with the past. "And then they said some stuff that I didn't quite understand and Diesel brought me back," I ended with a frown, remembering the last condition I'd overheard.

"Do you remember what they said?" Papa asked. He'd been pretty quiet the whole time I was telling the story.

I scrunched my eyes up, trying to remember their exact wording. "It was another condition," I explained. "Mama said... that it needed to be...'before it wore off' or something like that." I wracked my brain trying to remember Diesel's reply to that. "I can't remember what Diesel said, but I think it was about not knowing how long whatever it was would last... I think that's all I heard. I don't think I was supposed to hear that last part."

"No," said Diesel from the doorway. "You weren't. But I guess, since you did I should probably explain it."

Papa gave him a 'You better' look and pointed to the chair that was stationed in the corner of the room. Diesel dragged it a little closer to us, making sure not to come within Papa's arm reach. I judged that Papa would have to physically leave his position on the bed in order to strangle him this time around, which would give Diesel the precious second he needed to pop away, if it came to that.

"Where do I start?" Diesel muttered, running a hand along his head, messing up his already tousled hair.

"Let's start at the very beginning," Papa said, utilising his don't-mess-with-me tone.

I giggled and added in a sing song voice, "It's a very good place to start!" No one payed any attention to my gleeful outburst though. I don't think Papa understood where it came from and Diesel was a bit vulnerable as it was, without digressing off the topic.

"Okay, so Magenta was about fifteen months old when Steph started getting headaches. At first it was just a couple times a week, so none of us thought anything of it. Then they were coming every day and they were building to migraines. She was frequently confused and couldn't get up the energy to even look after Maggie half the time. Janelle was spending more and more time helping her out. We took her to the doctor every week as the symptoms got worse but they couldn't find anything. Eventually, Janelle convinced me to bring in an Unmentionable healer to check her out. That's when we figured out about the poison. Someone had been dusting her pillow with arsenic."

"What about Magenta?" Bobby asked. He must have been standing there the entire time, unnoticed. "Didn't she come in contact with the pillow? I can imagine Steph would have had her in her bed from time to time, right?"

"Well, yeah, you'd think so. But Maggie was clean. Healthy as ever. Mystery child. So, we got everything back to normal and Steph on the road to recovery, but whoever it was had changed tactics, sending 'gifts' and such which turned out to be explosive. Thankfully, she had more sense than to open them herself. She always contacted me, or Janelle if I was out of reach. And we got the Unmentionable Bomb Squad out quick smart."

"So, Mama didn't die from poison?" I asked, trying to put together what he was telling me.

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "She... it's complicated. Let me continue the story." I nodded, shifting into a more comfortable position leaning against Papa's side. Papa put his arm lightly around my waist and I knew he could disengage me at a moment's notice if he had to. It was always the way. "We decided that things had gone on long enough. Hanging around was risking both Steph and Maggie's lives. We needed to," he gulped. "Eliminate Steph from the picture."

"YOU KILLED HER!" I screamed, lunging toward him. I didn't make it far before Tank intercepted me. I hadn't even noticed he was there, but suddenly he was holding me in the air by my upper arms. I was kicking at his knees and my hands were clawed, trying to scratch at anything I could reach. I was glaring over his shoulder at the man sitting calmly in the chair. "YOU FUCKING MURDERER!" I yelled at him. "SHE _TRUSTED_ YOU AND YOU JUST WENT AHEAD AND FUCKING KILLED HER?" I sob broke free of my chest and I felt hot tears trickle down my cheeks. "I thought she meant more to you than that," I whispered thickly. "I thought she meant more to Janelle than that. How could you?" My limbs went limp. I'd stopped fighting Tank's hold and just hung there for a moment before Tank pulled me into his chest. "She – she was my _mother. _My mama..." My breath hitched. "_My mommy._" Things were starting to darken around the edges and for a moment I thought that maybe I was being popped out of the room again, but then I remembered that Tank was holding me, not Diesel. Probably, I was just losing consciousness. "I never got to know her," I said plaintively, looking up into Tank's big brown eyes. "She was my mommy and I never knew her."

I continued to stare into Tank's eyes, thinking that Papa had been oddly quiet this whole time. _Why hadn't he tried to kill Diesel? Why was he just sitting there? Why_- A sense of calm washed over me and I breathed a sigh, forgetting my thoughts. Tank sat me on the bed next to Papa again and I half slumped against him. He gathered me into his lap and kissed my forehead.

"How about we listen to what Diesel has to say before jumping to conclusions?" Papa suggested softly. "I don't think he could have killed your Mama."

Before I could agree to hear him out, Papa's cell phone rang. He shifted slightly, underneath me to answer it. "Yo," he said. From my position so close to him, I could hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but I couldn't make out any words or who it was. Papa sighed as the voice paused a moment. "Yeah, we got something like that too. There's probably more to it than that. You should probably get over here and see what Diesel has to say." The voice started ranting, and I distinctly recognised it as Dad, that and I put together the bits of conversation I could hear. "Fine, call them and send them over. We'll wait." He hung up before Dad could say anything else. "Morelli and the Plums are headed over," he informed the room.

"I'll go put coffee on," Auntie Mare said from her position perched on the chest at the end of the bed.

Half an hour later, the living room was crammed. Grandma , Grandpa and Great Gran were seated on the couch. Diesel was in a dining chair, placed in front of the television. Auntie Mare, and Ella were in the arm chairs, with Louis perched on the arm of Ella's. Dad, Tank, Lester, Bobby and Tio Eloy were all on dining chairs as well. Papa was standing about five feet from Diesel's chair, and I was on the floor, leaning against Grandpa's legs. Tea, coffee and cake had all been passed out and everyone was pretty much caught up, so I was waiting for the rest of the story. The part about eliminating my mother from the picture.

"It was too dangerous for Steph to continue living where she was, as she was," Diesel explained, obviously choosing his words very closely, now that he was surrounded by so many more people whom had loved the person in question. "We made some quick decisions and decided..." he looked around, hesitant to continue after seeing how I reacted to the news. "we decided she needed to disappear."

"You _killed_ her?" Dad asked sharply. "What on earth possessed you to do such a thing!"

"Let him finish, Dad," I said softly, calmly. I wasn't going to go off my nut again. I needed to hear what happened.

"But he _killed her!_"

"No," Diesel said. "We didn't kill her."

"Of course not!" Dad ranted. "You just gave her enough drugs that she was completely sick and sent her back to her mother to spread a lie about having a brain tumour _and then she DIED!_"

Diesel shook his head. "She didn't die."

"Bullshit!" for a second I thought it was Dad again, but then I realised that the voice was much closer to me. It was Grandpa. I was shocked. Never in my life had I heard Grandpa use such language, nor had he spoken over a normal conversation volume. "Helen was there when she died. So was Joe. Don't try to lie to us. She's dead. We had a funeral. Open casket. Most of the 'Burg turned out." There was so much raw emotion in his voice that I was afraid to look around for fear of finding him crying. I didn't think I could handle the sight of my grandfather, one of the most strong willed people I know – which was saying something considering the Papa's company – in tears.

"How dare you disrespect our daughter's memory!" Grandma seethed.

"ENOUGH!" I yelled, leaping to my feet. "Can we all just pipe down? Diesel's trying to explain something very important that Mama wanted us to know! I don't know about you, but since this is pretty much all I have left of my mother, I wanna hear it. If you don't wanna listen, get the fuck out."

"Language, young lady!" Grandma scolded.

I looked at her, a serious expression. "I mean it, Grandma. After what's happened to me in the last week and a half, I'm losing my patience. I think you can get over one little cuss, don't you?"

She gave me a level stare. "Any more cuss words out of your mouth and I'll be dragging you to the bathroom to wash your mouth out," she warned. "Now sit down so we can listen to what this man has to say."

As I lowered myself back to the ground my eye began to twitch. Grandma always has a way of turning things around so that I've done the wrong thing. I think it's because she doesn't like being in the wrong, so it's not a totally bad feeling when she does this to me, because it means I've caught her out. Sticking a finger in my eye to try to stop the twitching, I nodded for Diesel to continue.

"Where was I?" he asked, absently rubbing his head again. "Oh, right. Steph didn't die. What you saw was the work of some of our most respected Unmentionables. They made her appear ill, so much so that she even felt it a bit. But she wasn't really. We developed our cover story, the brain tumour and sent her back to Trenton with Maggie. She didn't have much time so she organised for Morelli and Manoso to look after Magenta as soon as she arrived. What you saw wasn't Steph dying. She merely fell into a deep sleep. Our top illusionist spun a web around her so that anyone who examined her would come to the conclusion that she was dead. No pulse. No brain activity. Nothing."

"So Steph's just sleeping in a coffin under six feet of dirt, over in the cemetery?" Aunti Mare asked incredulously. "Isn't that a bit morbid?"

"She's not in the ground," he explained. "The sleep lasted a week and a half. Long enough for you all to have organised and held a funeral for her and for us to get her back to headquarters. While she was still under we did some memory suppressing. We locked away everything related to Maggie in her mind and planted the thought that she was in a sort of witness protection program, which was why she couldn't contact her family or anyone from her past."

"You raped her mind?" Lester asked in a weird voice.

"She agreed to it all before hand," Diesel explained, then looked straight at me. "That's what we were discussing."

"Wait up," I said. "Everyone just hold on one cotton picking minute. My mother, the one I only know through stories and photographs and one brief trip to the past. The woman I have longed for my entire life. The one that gave me life. Whom you say is still alive. She doesn't know I exist? She doesn't remember me? That's sick! I can't believe it!"

"What we did wasn't intended to last forever," he explained patiently, trying to sooth my anger. "Just long enough to get everything sorted out and ensure that there was no more threat to Steph or anyone she loved. It's starting to wear off now."

"That's what the phone call was about," Tank said. It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact. "The one we all overheard. Janelle was saying about something starting to wear off. You told her to plan a trip to distract Steph from the fact that she was starting to get the feeling something wasn't as it should be." Again, he asked no questions, just assumed he was right. Which he was, if the way Diesel was nodding said anything.

"So even though she doesn't remember me now, she gonna remember me soon?" I asked, trying not to let the hope well up too much inside of me. If I was hopeful, there was something that could be crushed. Diesel nodded again. "Will I get to meet her when she does?" Again, put a heavy brick on the hope. Keep it locked up nice and tight.

"Nothing in the world will keep the two of you apart once she realises what's missing from her life," Diesel assured me. And there was a murmur of agreement around the room.

* * *

_Did I answer some questions? I hope so. Don't forget to review!_


	38. Nightmare

Thanks as always to my faithful reviewers. This story probably would have ended a long time without you all. Today's chapter is relatively short in comparison to recent updates, but fear not, there will be more in the future.

**Chapter 38**

_I entered a small cafe with Papa by my side. We spotted Diesel at a corner in the back with two women. One was his wife, Janelle, the other was my estranged mother. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and immediately embraced me in a hug when I awkwardly held my hand out and introduced myself. She embraced me for long moments before leaning back and inspecting my wet face. Wiping away my tears, she smiled and told me, "You're so grown up. I was expecting my little baby!"_

_And that's when everything changed. _

_Suddenly, the sky outside the window was filled with dark storm clouds and rain was beating rapidly against the large front windows of the coffee shop. Lightning flashed and the lights flickered off and on again. _

_The cafe was gone._

_I looked around and found myself in the middle of a hollowed out warehouse. The only furnishings in the space was an old fashioned armed dining chair with straps adorning the arms and legs, and a metal table filled with gruesome looking implements that were all kinds of sharp. Panicking at the sight, I searched the room for Papa. He wasn't there. _

_When I looked back to the chair, I found Diesel draped casually over its back, his chin resting in his hand as he regarded me with an easy grin._

_"Where's Papa?" I asked him, sounding just like every horror movie I'd ever watched. "Where am I? What is all this stuff?"_

_"Don't worry about, your _Papa_," a woman's voice sneered behind me. I turned to face my mother as she approached with a deadly looking needle in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. "You don't need him anymore," she told me in a sickly sweet voice. "You have me now. And I'm going to take good care of both of us." She smiled at me and I shuddered at the glint in her blue eyes. "Take a seat. We have a lot of years to catch up on."_

_I shook my head no when she indicated to the only chair around. "I'll stand," I said._

_Mama nodded like she'd expected it. "You know, when Diesel first showed me pictures of you I had no idea what good it was going to do me coming back into your life, but now I see the light. You're such an intelligent and resourceful young lady. And your brain! So new and unharmed! Diesel's convinced me that having you would be very beneficial. Please, take a seat and we can discuss it more." When I once again shook my head she passed the needle to Janelle who suddenly appeared beside her dressed in a lab coat and sporting a rather unfortunate hump. Mama immediately raised the bat to shoulder height and addressed me again. "You should obey your mother," she told me, with big innocent eyes. "The consequences could be dire."_

_"What are you going to do to me?"I asked, managing to keep the fear from my voice._

_"Oh sweetie," she cooed. "I'm not going to do anything to you! Why would you think that?"_

_I scoffed, getting annoyed now. "Mother, please. I'm fifteen. I've seen enough of the world to know that a person doesn't stand poised to hit another person in the head with a baseball bat simply because they want to offer them a scone."_

_"Well, if you must know, Diesel is going to perform a little..." she paused, looking to Diesel with a thoughtful expression. "Diesel, would you call it a transplant or brain surgery?"_

_"You're going to take my brain!" I exclaimed. _

_"Of course not, honey," she smiled what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. "Diesel will be taking it... and giving it to me. _Now get in the chair._"_

_The bat made a bee line for my head. My own mother was going to hit me in the head so that she could strap me down and steal my brain! If you can find a worse example of betrayal, please email me, my address is almost officially _dead_girl (at) six-feet-under (dot) com.

_I let out a scream as the bat neared my head._

!

"Genny-babe, wake up," Papa shouted in my face, shaking my shoulders hard. "You're having a bad dream."

I jolted to an abrupt upright position, banging heads with Papa in the process. He staggered back a step, releasing my shoulders and rubbing his head. I immediately caressed my own aching forehead, finding it sweaty and slimy. I looked down at the bed sheets tangled around my legs, avoiding Papa's gaze and I tried to control my breathing. This was embarrassing. I hadn't had a nightmare in almost five years. And the fact that this one involved my mother cutting my head open when I was still alive made it doubly painful to think about.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Papa," I muttered, still gazing at the sheets but having noticed the dim light in the room coming from the lamp on the bedside table. It was obviously still night time.

"You didn't wake me, Gen," he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I just got home from my run and heard you screaming. Scared the life out of me." He chuckled lightly at the thought. "I thought someone had managed to get into the apartment and was torturing you."

_How much closer could he get to the truth?_ I thought to myself. I let my hands fall into my lap, but still kept my gaze downcast. "It was just a bad dream," I murmured unnecessarily. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Two firm fingers under my chin forced my face up to meet Papa's concerned eyes. "Stop apologising," he insisted. "Nobody is blaming you for a bit of extra adrenaline." He slicked my damp hair back from my face and kissed my forehead where it had collided with his own before sitting back and allowing a thick silence to fall between us. I met his gaze for a moment or two before starting to fidget, pulling on my fingers. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, laying a hand on top of my own to stop my fiddling.

"Is she really alive?" I asked my voice barely audible to my own ears over the pounding of my heart in my chest. I know I didn't need to explain my question. He would certainly know who I was talking about. When he didn't answer at first, I looked up to find him staring at the closed closet door. "We only have Diesel's word to go by," I said. "What if he's lying? I don't think I could handle losing Mama again. I know I shouldn't be too hopeful because we have no physical evidence that she didn't die. The whole counting your chickens before they hatch, thing. But I can't help the feeling that filled me when Diesel told us she was still alive. My whole life I've dreamed of having my mother smile at me and tell me how proud she was of the person I'd become. Every birthday since I can remember that's been my candle wish," I admitted. I laughed bitterly and shook my head. "It probably sounds selfish. I mean. I've got to loving guardians that would do anything to ensure I'm safe and happy. And there I am, wishing for my dead mother to rise from the grave."

I winced at how bad it sounded now that I'd said it out loud.

"I don't think he's lying," Papa simply replied._ Was he choosing to ignore everything else I'd said? How did I feel about that? Should I feel annoyed? Or relieved?_ "As for wanting your mother," he added after a moment. "It's perfectly normal. I have found myself longing for her on numerous occasions over the years."

Letting out a massive sigh, I tried to prepare myself for my next big admission. "Now that I know she's alive, I'm not sure I want to meet her," I told him, feeling tears stinging behind my eyes as I said the words. I couldn't help the feeling that had been niggling at me ever since Diesel's big reveal. That she would reject me. For some reason, I felt sure that my mother would not want me. Or worse. That she _would_ want me. All to herself. My second fear was that she would take me away from Dad and Papa and never let me see them or any of the Lost Boys, or my friends again. It's probably why I had the nightmare.

He must have noticed how close I was to releasing the waterworks, because he pulled me into his lap, tangled covers and all, and hugged me tightly to his chest. "Shh," he murmured into my hair. "It'll be okay. Nothing bad will happen. You know how I know?"

Obviously waiting for my reply, I choked out a strained, "How?"

"Because I won't let it," he said firmly. "I swore to your mother on the day she died, that I would protect you from anything life throws your way. And so help me, if it means I have to hide you away in a third world country to keep you safe from any harm – mental or physical – that even your own mother tries to inflict on you, I will do it." He held my face between his hands and looked directly into my eyes, a fierce look in his own. "I will go to the ends of the earth for you, Genny-babe."

The tears broke forth once more and I cried while laughing. "That kind of statement carried more weight back when the world was flat, Papa," I muttered. "You're showing your age again."

"I mean it, Magenta," he said seriously. "I won't let anything happen. I will be with you every step of the way. And if, when you finally meet your Mama, you don't feel comfortable, we can cut it short. We'll go at your pace."

"P-pronmise?" I asked, giving him a watery smile.

He gave me the most reassuring smile in the world. "I'll do you one better," he told me, extending his hand between us. "I'll pinkie-swear."

I couldn't help the burst of laughter that broke from my belly at his statement. I didn't even think Papa knew pinkie-swears existed, but here he was offering me one. In a fit of giggles I extended my own hooked pinkie and linked it with his.

When I'd calmed down he gently untangled my legs from the sheets and set me on my feet on the floor. "You go have a shower," he said. "I'll call Ella and get her to send breakfast up before taking one myself." I nodded and started for the door that led to the hall. "It's still early, so try not to be too loud. Mary Lou didn't get to bed until quite late, last night," he added.

* * *

_Review? I know I always say stuff like that. It's because I love hearing other people's opinions on my stuff. Most of the time I think my ideas are a complete rerun of everything else in the world.  
_

_EDIT: I forgot to mention that I did a little drawing of what Magenta looks like in my head. If you're interested you can find it on deviantART ::: .com/?qh=§ion;=&q=magenta+plum#/d34x29b_


	39. Daddy and Me Time

_I am so greatful to have this story to distract me from the disfunction of my own family as Christmas draws nearer. Sometimes it's good to remind myself that other families are less functional than my own. Anyway. Update. This is my updating._

**Chapter 39**

After a nice, quiet, uneventful breakfast with just Papa and me, Papa had to get to work – not that I was surprised. The company doesn't run itself, you know. So I was left on my own, sitting at the breakfast nook with an empty plate and a half glass of orange juice before me. I was contemplating going to see if Diesel was up so I could glean more information about Mama out of him, but figured Papa would want to hear whatever Diesel would have to say, so I let the idea fizzle out. My next brain fart included going down to the lobby to spend time with Carter, but after checking the roster on Papa's computer I had to nix that one too. Carter wasn't scheduled on reception duty for the rest of the week.

With a sigh, I rinsed my dishes and started down the stairs to the control room, thinking all the while about what it would be like to meet Mama after all these years. I repeatedly pushed the nightmare to the back of my mind, hoping that if I kept pushing it would simply fall out the back never to be seen again.

Sure, I had fantasised about Mama turning up out of the blue, explaining that she wasn't dead after all, but had simply been working undercover in some foreign country, helping the needy and generally being super good and awesome. But they were just fantasies. The dreams of a little girl being raised by two manly men. Now, it seemed as if my dreams really would come true. I could finally hold a conversation with my Mama. The excitement that surged through me every time I thought of it was almost unbearable. And despite all my doubts and worries about inadequacies and rejection, I couldn't wait to meet her. Unfortunately, I had no idea when I would be meeting her. As far as I knew it could be months before I would even be able to catch a glimpse of my flesh and blood, completely not dead mother. Then again, it could be a matter of days.

I had just made it too the command floor when my phone trilled out an off key rendition of "This is Halloween" from The Nightmare before Christmas. I answered on the third ring as I approached the hall the held the important offices.

"What are you doing today?" Dad asked once we'd gotten the greetings out of the way.

I glanced around the control room. Maybe I was looking for an answer to his question. Maybe I was taking a moment to think purely for the sake of making him wait. I'm not entirely sure. Finally I replied slowly, "I don't really have anything planned. I'll probably just hand around here. Why?"

He hesitated a moment and I could tell he was feeling awkward. Things got like that between Dad and me sometimes. My guess was it was because I spent most of my time at Papa's and Dad wasn't overly fussed on Papa. The fact that he and I didn't exactly see eye to eye was probably a contributing factor as well.

"I thought maybe we could spend some time together," he suggested. "It is school holidays, after all." Ah, yes. The age old agreement that Dad could pretty much have me whenever he pleased on school holidays. During the term Dad would have to plan his visits with me around what Papa wanted, but when school was out it was... different. I'm reluctant to say it was completely turned around, because Papa really did hold most of the power, especially when I decided that I didn't want to live at Dad's for the holidays. Not that that had happened more than a couple of times. But to make my point, Dad was missing out on his time with me, so it was natural for him to want to get at least some of it back.

"Sure," I agreed easily. "Why not? Just let me okay it with..." I stuck my head into Papa's office as I passed. It was empty. "I'll have to check with Tank," I explained as I continued down the hall. "Papa's either in a meeting or on a house call."

"One: You make it sound like he's a doctor or something when you phrase it like that. And two: I'm your guardian, you shouldn't have to okay spending the day with me with one of Ranger's lackeys."

I sighed. Dad got jealous quite easily at times. "He's not a lackey, Dad," I said exasperatedly. I'd lost count of how many times we'd had this conversation. "He's part of the operating team for the entire company – not just this office. He's also Papa's best friend. If you bothered to get to know _any _ of the guys you would probably know this. And besides, Papa said he was probably only going to put in a half day today and I want to make sure he doesn't have any major plans for me this afternoon. Tank knows Papa's schedule the best. Better than Papa himself at times."

Now it was Dad's time to sigh into the phone. "Fine," he grumbled, clearly still not liking the idea. "Check. I'll wait." Probably, he was going to strain his ears for snippets of conversation so he could grill me about Rangeman's inner workings later.

I slapped the phone to my chest and addressed Tank as I entered his office. "Dad's getting jealous and wants to spend time with me today," I informed him "Papa didn't have anything planned for this afternoon, did he?"

Tank checked a memo pad by his phone. "Nothing planned, but I can imagine he wants to interrogate Diesel some more over dinner." He got a glint in his eyes and added, "Be back by five. Ranger gave Ella the night off, so I'm cooking for the lot of us." His smile turned devious. "And I may have misplaced everything low fat in my pantry."

Tank used to live in a little house about fifteen minutes away from the Rangeman building with a few cats that he loved to show pictures of. I have memories of sneezing as one of them swished their fluffy tail under my nose while I was playing with my dollies in his living room. A few years ago, though, he'd moved into an apartment on the fifth floor. What happened to his cats, you ask? Well, a couple of them mysteriously disappeared. One was run over by an old man in an angry car and the last one, Mr Foofikins, he gave to a little boy down the street who was sad that his own cat had passed away. He said it was lonely in the house without the cats, so he moved back in.

I gave him the chuckle he deserved for his defiance of Papa's strict no fat diet and returned the phone to my ear. "All clear. Meet you ut front in say... half an hour?"

"Don't-," he started, but I cut him off.

"Leave the building until I see you," I finished for him. "No worries, Dad. I know the drill."

!

It didn't take me half an hour to race upstairs, grab my purse and the panic button (sigh) and make my way down to the lobby, so I had some time to kill when I pushed through the stairwell door on the ground floor. I slipped into the reception station and wriggled up onto the counter next to the main desk which was currently being manned by a guy named Demon. I'd like to assume it's not his given name, but then again, I'd seen him move on the mats and I could see where he made his name.

"How's it going?" I asked him, not really expecting anything in return. I mean, really. He was new. And he thought the object of the game was to remain silent for the longest. I mentally shook my head when he didn't even look up from the computer screen. Obviously, he was playing a very important game of solitaire. "Hey, that's fine," I told him. "You don't have to talk. But you should know that Papa looks more favourably on the employees that are nice to me. Why do you think Tank, Bobby and Lester are so high up?" This got him to tear his gaze from the screen for a brief moment. "Hi there," I said.

"Hey," he said in a gravelly voice. I studied his features up close for the first time and decided he wasn't gonna win any beauty contests, unless the pageant judges were looking for massive scars criss-crossing contestants' cheeks. It could happen, right? Hmm. Probably not. His eyes were a muddy brown that almost looked red when the light hit them just right. Unusual, and slightly intriguing.

"See?" I asked. "That wasn't so hard, was it? All you have to do is move your lips and make sound come out." He just stared at me. "You know English, right? It's okay if you don't. Hector's been tutoring me. I'm getting really good. Wanna hear? Mi mamá me mima mucho! That's not true, of course. But you probably already knew that. Pretty much everyone in the building knows my situation."

"I speak English perfectly fine," he said in that same gravelly tone, sounding like he'd eaten a car or something.

"That's a relief," I told him with a smile. "I totally blanked and can't remember much more than that. So, I have" – I looked at my watch – "Twenty minutes to kill. Wanna share secrets?" His only reply was a grunt. "Oh, come on! I thought we were making progress! You said a whole sentence!" I watched his eyes narrow. "Okay, fine, we can skip the secrets. How about I do your nails? Or give you a facial?" With a glance down at my own nails I realised that I had never actually done anyone's nails, and that included my own. Mine were okay enough. Easy to maintain since I kept them short. "Maybe not the girly stuff. What do you want to do? And don't say sit here quietly, I've heard it a thousand times. My guardians always liked to play the quiet game when I was younger. Can you believe I always lost?"

"Excuse me," came a vaguely familiar voice from behind me, somewhere near the door. I spun around on the counter, lifting my legs so that they could dangle over the front side, facing the majority of the room, and speared the intruder with a curious gaze. It was the ladies from the day before. "We're sorry to interrupt," the short one apologised.

"Hey!" I said cheerfully, sending them a big grin. "No worries, Demon here is no fun anyway. He's only said six words the entire time I've been here. Which, for the record, is pretty much right on average for the guys who work here. What can he help you with? I thought they scheduled you a meeting for some time next week?

She smiled sheepishly and tugged on a lock of her hair nervously. "We were just hoping he could fit us in before then. Today, if possible."

"Probably won't happen," I told her casually. "Ranger's super busy. And he's taking the afternoon off to deal with some personal stuff." There was a thoughtful expression on her face when I told her this. "What's your name, anyway?"

"I don't think you're supposed to be-," Demon began.

"HE SPEAKS!" I exclaimed over top of whatever he'd been trying to say. I turned to the women, now standing mere feet away. "You heard it, right? You can back me up when I tell Tank? He certainly won't believe me. He thinks Demon only has the capacity to recite his serial number and say _Yes Sir_."

The women laughed and I grinned wider. It felt good to make people laugh.

"How long have you been here?" the short woman asked curiously.

"Here on this counter? Or here in this building?" I asked.

"This building," she clarified patiently. "You live here, don't you?"

I nodded. "Yep. I've been here a while. It's a bit like a prison sometimes." _Like when I have homework._ "Does your friend talk?"

The women exchanged a look through the tall ladies massive sunglasses. "She's feeling rather poorly at the moment," the blonde explained. "Sore throat mostly."

I considered them both sceptically. "So that's a no?" I asked.

To my surprise, the taller woman extended her hand and said in a hoarse voice, "Michelle."

Shaking the hand cautiously, I replied, choosing to give them my middle name, "Anne. It's nice to meet you Miss Michelle."

"And you," Michelle replied. "This is Jan," she added gesturing to the other woman as she released my hand. "You have some beautiful hair."

"Thank you." To be honest, I wasn't really paying any attention to Michelle anymore. There was something about Jan that was bugging me. She noticed me watching her and immediately stopped scratching her head, looking at the ground guiltily. "What brings you to Rangeman?" I asked.

"I really don't think -," Demon tried to say.

I rolled my eyes. "Demon, please. It'll be alright. What harm can I possibly do?"

"You could prov-."

"Exactly," I said, like he'd confirmed statement. "It won't do any harm." I turned my gaze to the women again with a 'well?' expression on my face.

"We have some old business that has recently become relevant again," Michelle wheezed out before dissolving into a coughing fit.

"We were hoping Ranger could help out," Jan said.

"Security issues?" I asked.

Jan hesitated a moment before saying, "Uh, not exactly." And at that moment I had a jolt of recognition. I definitely knew this woman from somewhere. I didn't have time to analyse the feeling, though, because at that moment Dad's SUV pulled to the curb and he gave the 'secret' honk. I'm sure everyone on the street could replicate the 'secret' honk if they so chose, but if it made Dad feel like I was safer, I wasn't going to complain.

"Sorry," I told the ladies. "That's Officer Morelli to take me for visitation with my Dad." I rolled my eyes to support my story. "Good luck getting to see Ranger."

Dad met me at the curb and thankfully didn't hug me or anything, just opened the passenger side door for me. "Who were those women you were talking to?" Dad asked once we were both strapped in and heading toward his house. "I didn't think Ranger employed females."

Typical Dad, asks about things he's suspicious about before asking about me. "Thanks Dad, I'm great. How are you?"

He glanced over at me as he stopped for a light. "Sorry, Gen," he sighed. "Sometimes I just get –"

"Nosy beyond belief," I said. "I know. So what do you want to do today?"

Silence fell for a few minutes. I watched his profile as he manoeuvred the car through the streets of Trenton. He was gearing himself up for something. Some kind of big reveal, probably. After a little while, I stopped watching him and looked out the window. We weren't heading for Dad's house after all.

"Where are we going?" I asked him, feeling a little apprehensive. I really didn't think I could handle any surprises at the moment. Despite my cheery disposition, it was pandemonium inside my head.

After another shorter hesitation Dad finally confessed, "I thought we might go to the mall. Your birthday is coming up and I haven't got a clue what to get you. Plus, I asked Tiffany meet us there for lunch. I'd really like you to meet her."

Sighing, I looked out the window. "Does this have anything to do with Mama?" I asked. I'm not sure why I asked it, it was just one of those things that popped into my head and spilled out of my mouth before I could really acknowledge it. "Are you worried that just because I'm going to meet my mother that I'm going to forget you and cast you aside like an old toy?" I felt tears welling in my eyes as I said the words. The concept that Dad might think something like this was hurting. When he didn't answer me for a long time I jerkily pulled my hand through my hair, snagging my fingers on the knots that had formed in the hours since I'd brushed it. "You'll always be my Dad," I told him, turning so that I could see him easily. "You'll always be Daddy. The man who sat in the front row of the audience when my preschool did a nativity play. The man who helped me with my social science assignment and endured my many fleeting obsessions through childhood. None of that is going to change just because Mama is alive." A sob escaped me unbidden and I had to sniff back snot that threatened to drool out my nose. "I'll still love you no matter what," I told him.

Dad quickly pulled to the side of the road, turned the car off, undid my seatbelt and pulled me across the console into a Dad hug. "I love you too, Genny," he whispered into my hair, rubbing soothing circles on my back. "I know we haven't exactly been close as you've grown older, but I don't want to lose you. You're one of the best things in my life right now." He laughed and added, "Honestly? I thought you would think I wouldn't want you anymore because I have Tiffany."

"Dad!" I groaned, sitting up and wiping my eyes. "Didn't we go over this like a week ago? I understand the concept of loving more than one person. And I'm sure you're perfectly capable of dividing your time so that neither Tiffany nor I get jealous. We're grown women."

"You're not even fifteen yet," Dad said with a raised eyebrow.

Two hours later, I had a new pair of jeans, Dad had a better idea of what to get me for my birthday and we were headed to the food court to meet Tiffany for lunch. Dad was explaining how Tiffany worked at the hospital when a loud gunshot rang out and the shop window we'd just passed shattered. I was shoved to the ground behind a bank of bins and told to stay put, then suddenly I was alone. There was a lot of yelling coming from the other side of the bins, but I didn't dare peek out from behind them.

Hugging my knees tightly to my chest, I started thinking of things to distract myself. Like how my best friend was bi and was going out with the weird girl from my new school. And then I listed all my CDs in alphabetical order, then by genre. When that didn't last as long as I thought it would I thought back to the two women, Michelle and Jan, from the lobby. There was something about Jan that set my spine a tingling. I was recalling the way her voice sounded, the way her face formed it's expressions and her overall posture when my cell phone rang.

I pulled it from my pants pocket with fumbling, shaking fingers and opened it up. "Hello?" I answered.

"Magenta, are you alright?" Tank's worried voice came down the line.

"I'm fine," I told him. "Does Papa know?"

"He's on his way over as we speak."

I groaned. "He knows he doesn't have to do that, right? Dad's here. The police have probably been called by now, if they haven't already turned up. And I'm not hurt or anything."

"Try telling him that," Tank said dryly. "I'll talk to you later."

I hung up and leaned my head back against the wall behind me, closing my eyes. Two weeks ago my biggest concern was passing math and ignoring stares from my cohorts when they learned that I was the girl with the two male guardians. Now, I was hiding behind garbage cans after a bullet hit about five feet behind me. Dad was preparing me to meet his girlfriend. There was a guy in my life that like to pop in and out as he please. And my mother was NOT dead. All I needed now was a bunch of little people telling me to follow the yellow brick road and I'd be set.

"Magenta Plum?" someone said close by. I looked up to find a vibrant red head standing before me. She was wearing a navy blue pant suit with a pale pink blouse and a respectable pair of black shoes with a slight heel. "Joe asked me to come check on you. He's just dealing with some work related stuff and then he'll be back."

"You must be Tiffany," I said, offering her a shaky smile. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," she said, and it sounded like she really meant it. "I bet this isn't what you envisioned our meeting to be like." To my shock, she was lowering herself to the ground beside me. I had a random impulse to stop her, for fear she'd ruin her suit, but it wasn't like she was doing it because I'd asked or anything. She wanted to. So I let her.

"Not even close," I told her. "I thought there might be a salad sandwich involved. And maybe curly fries. But not guns and shattered glass."

An awkward silence fell between us, during which I stared at my hands which were still shaking. I had no idea what to say to this woman, and I was fairly sure she was in a similar boat regarding me.

"Know what?" she said eventually, breaking the silence. "We could grab a couple of sandwiches and curly fries now. How does that sound?"

I met her pale eyes. She was trying, and that made me like her a little bit. "I promised Dad I'd stay here," I said almost apologetically.

"No worries," she replied. "A friend from work is out there somewhere, I can give her a ring and get her to bring it to us and I'll pay her back when she gets here."

"I can pay for my own-," I tried to offer, but she shook her head vehemently.

"No, I'll pay. Please?"

I nodded slowly. "Okay. But don't think I'm not onto you. You're trying to make me like you."

She smiled sheepishly, looking away a moment. "Is it working?" she asked when she turned to face me again.

Trying to stifle a grin that wanted to break forth on my face, I told her, "I'll base my decision on the quality of sandwich you get me."

* * *

_You know what to do_


	40. Not Merely a Coincidence

_I'm shocked. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since my last update, and I'm updating again. Isn't that exciting? I guess it's because it's raining pretty much non-stop here, making it pretty cold for an Australian summer, and I needed to do something to keep my mind off the miserable weather. Hope you enjoy it._

**Chapter 40**

Turns out Tiffany and/or her friend has great taste in sandwiches, so I had to reluctantly agree that her tactics were working. The fact that she was treating me like an equal rather than a child and seemed almost as awkward about us meeting as I did, helped matters greatly. There was complete silence as we ate until Papa turned up. He didn't say anything at first. Just cast a big shadow over the both of us as he stared down at me. His blank face was in place, probably because we weren't alone. If it was just us hiding behind the trash cans he'd have been showing some kind of emotion.

"Papa!" I cried, jumping up to fling my arms around him in a brief hug. When I stood back I spread my arms wide and informed him, "I'm alright. Not a scratch on me. See?"

"Why didn't you use the panic button?" he asked. It was hard to pin his tone of voice, could have been restrained anger tinted with some kind of relief, but I'm not expert.

I dropped my arms to my side, noticed my hands were still shaking and quickly shoved them into my pockets. "I didn't panic."

He gave me a narrow eyed stare, flickering his gaze to my hands then back to my face. "You're shaking."

With a roll of my eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest. I loved Papa, but sometimes he could be a little overprotective. "It's called adrenaline," I gritted out. "Maybe you've heard of it."

"You could have been hurt," Papa told me, losing his I'm-annoyed-with-you attitude and softening up a little. "What do you think your mother would think if I'd presented you to her with a bullet wound in your arm? Or worse, shown her an obituary?"

"I don't know what Mama would think," I muttered. "I don't know Mama. But I don't really think she should be one to judge, being that she left me in the care of a cop and a mercenary. And from what I've heard of her over these holidays, I'd say she's been in this kind of situation a few times herself. Must be genetic."

We stared at each other solidly without blinking for what felt like a long time before Tiffany cleared her throat. Papa cut his gaze to here in that semi scary way he does that is apparently very scary for people who don't really know him.

"I, um... Sorry, I should..." she paused, shook her head from side to side and stuck her hand out. "Hi, I'm Tiffany Azure. You must be Ricardo Manoso."

Papa slowly shook her hand. "Ranger," he pretty much grunted.

"Sorry?"

"You can call me Ranger," he said more clearly.

"Ranger," she tested the name. "Okay. It's nice to meet you. I guess I should probably leave the two of you alone to deal with" She gestured in around about way. "all of this."

"Thank you," Papa said as she hurried away. He returned his attention to me, a curious look on his face. "Morelli's girlfriend?" I nodded. "She seems okay."

This drew a laugh from somewhere within me. I wasn't expecting Papa's off-hand comment about Tiffany. Perhaps it was because I was used to him warning me to be careful around people. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," I said, picking up my left over lunch and the bag containing my new jeans. "I know it's not your fault I don't know Mama."

"Yet," he added, taking the bag and slinging an arm over my shoulder. "That sandwich looks good."

Rolling my eyes I offered him a bite, but at the last minute I pulled it away. "If you have a bite of my sandwich you have to have a curly fry as well," I told him, gesturing with the half empty packet of fries. He eyed the packet suspiciously, then eyed the sandwich, judging its worth. I took a bite of the sandwich. "Mmm, soo gooood," I moaned. "You should try it," I added, holding out the fries. Finally, he took a fry and shoved it into his mouth then abruptly stole the sandwich from me, holding it out of my reach after he'd taken a bite. "Papa! Give it back! I'm not finished!"

He took another bite before handing it back to me and leading the way out from behind the garbage cans. I spotted Dad almost immediately. He was across the way talking to a couple of police officers with Tiffany by his side. When he noticed us he excused himself from the others and made his way over to us.

"Today didn't exactly go as planned," Dad told me apologetically.

"It's okay," I told him. "I got to meet Tiffany."

"What do you think?" he asked and I could tell that he really honestly wanted my opinion.

I smiled at Dad. "I think she's nice. She didn't treat me like some dumb kid who's gonna get in the way. Even Papa thinks she's okay," I added the last knowing that Papa's opinion didn't matter to Dad, but also that the fact that Papa hadn't warned me away from her was a significant event.

Dad nodded slightly, with a quick glance to Papa. "Good to know."

"Did you catch him?" I asked, inclining my head toward the officers behind him.

"I've put some of the Lost Boys on it," answered for Dad. "We should probably get home, I have some calls I need to make this afternoon." He paused. "Unless you want to spend some more time with-."

"I think she's had enough excitement for one day," Dad said quickly.

I hugged Dad goodbye and as we disengaged, Papa told him that he had a business trip scheduled in a few weeks and would be in contact with him to organise my care. Dad nodded and we all ignored the possibility that things could be even more complicated by then if Mama was back in my life as we walked in our opposite directions.

_Across Town in a Quaint Hotel Room_

Janelle paced the floor between the bedroom door and the couch, listening to the low murmuring coming from Stephanie's room as she waited nervously for her husband to arrive. They'd left Rangeman an hour ago when Stephanie had started dozing in her chair in the lobby. She'd gone straight to bed when they returned to the hotel room and soon Janelle could hear the soft whispering of one repeated word falling from her mouth as she exhaled. _Magenta_.

Diesel appeared next to the television as Janelle paused by the open bedroom door, listening again.

"What's wrong?" he asked, immediately catching on to the nervous vibe in the room. "What's happened?"

Janelle moved to embrace her husband tightly around the waste. "It's getting worse," she told him. "She's getting sick, which is a sure sign that it's wearing off." She led him over to the doorway and gestured toward the woman curled on the bed. "Take a look at what she's wearing." Diesel examined the jeans and sweater in the half light of the room, but couldn't see anything significant about either article of clothing. He shrugged. Pursing her lips in irritation, Janelle walked briskly over to the window and tugged the curtain back a bit so the sunlight streamed onto Stephanie's back. "What colour is that?" she asked him in a whisper.

"A deep purple-ish red?" he suggested, taking another look at the sweater.

"Otherwise known as?" Janelle prompted. When Diesel simply shrugged again she dropped the curtain back into place and threw her arms in the air. A sign of exasperation. "It's magenta, Diesel. Deep purple-ish red is _magenta_."

"Ohhh," Diesel intoned. "I see the connection now."

"Yes, I thought you would," she said. "Now listen. Listen closely and tell me what you hear."

She held her breath to aid his ability to hear exactly what she wanted him to hear as he cocked his head to the side like a dog. After a moment he moved closer to the occupied bed and leaned his ear toward the woman. His eyes widened when he recognised the name she was breathing. He abruptly straightened and headed out of the room, motioning for his wife to follow.

"It's getting close," he said.

"Did you get Ranger and Magenta all the information?" she asked.

"They know she's alive, and that she doesn't currently remember having a child," Diesel hedged, flopping down on the couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"But not the rest of it?" Janelle demanded louder than she'd intended. Hearing the rise in volume of Stephanie's sleep-mutterings, she lowered her voice. "Diesel, Ranger especially needs to know the rest of it."

"I know, Janelle," he sighed. "I've been working my way up to it."

Janelle shook her head sadly. "I can't believe you haven't told him yet. He's the perfect person to solve it."

"I can't just dump it in his lap," Diesel scoffed. "I have to break the news in increments."

Just then there was an urgent shout from the bedroom. They both hurried into the room to find Stephanie sitting bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. She stared wide eyed at them as they entered, pushing her auburn waves out of her face. "Where is she?" she demanded hoarsely.

"Where is who?" Diesel asked innocently, not wanting to provoke confusion in case she hadn't remembered everything, though he suspected she had.

Steph glared at him. "Don't play with me, Diesel. Where's my baby?"

"I think she remembers," Janelle whispered needlessly.

"Ya think?" Diesel snorted.

"Where's Magenta?" Steph asked, getting anxious now. "Where's my baby?" She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "Diesel, what did I do?"

Janelle moved quickly to the bed too embrace her friend. "Shh, honey," she soothed. "Tell us what you remember and we'll fill in the rest."

"Magenta. My little girl. I had... have? A beautiful little girl. And then... poison? Oh god! Did someone poison my baby?"

"No, honey. Magenta is just fine."

"Then where is she?" Steph asked.

"You gave her to-,"

"I GAVE UP MY BABY?" she exclaimed in surprise. "YOU LET ME GIVE HER UP?"

"Steph, listen to me," Diesel said firmly. "You need to calm down." To Janelle he said, "I don't think the effects have fully worn off."

"How long do you think, until she remembers everything?" Janelle asked.

"Effects of what?" Steph asked. "What have you done to me? Where's my daughter?"

* * *

_One, two. You know what to do. Just listen to a geek and you will... wait... that's not what I was thinking. Go ahead and review while I get my head together._


	41. The Realisation

_Yippee! So the whether man told a lie to us down here. He said it was supposed to rain until Tuesday and well, today is Monday and there was nothing but blue sky all day. Sure, it was still a tad chillier than normal for summer, but I'm not complaining. I spent pretty much most of the day out on the back veranda working on my laptop. I managed to do up a family tree for a book series I've been reading (very large family, let me tell you. So I had to get them all in place) and of course, as you may have guessed, got a new chapter written. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to leave you to do the reading of my update, and I shall return to my own reading. God bless Mum's open bookshelves._

**Chapter 41**

"Pass me the soy sauce," Tank said, holding out his hand in my general direction.

It was late afternoon and I was seated on a kitchen stool at the bench in Tank's kitchen as he prepared what smelled like the best stir fry in the world. He was refusing my help in all forms except when he asked me to hand him stuff, like the soy sauce. Apparently I was not allowed off the stool for any reason at all, save a bathroom break.

"Soy sauce," I said, slapping the bottle into his hand like a surgical assistant. He poured some into the wok and set it aside without a word. "Papa got a bit annoyed that I didn't use the panic button," I informed him, even though he probably already knew. "But I wasn't panicked or hurt or anything. Dad got me out of the way quickly. Do you think I should have used it anyway?"

He turned to face me and I giggled anew at his frilly apron. "I don't think Ranger was annoyed that you didn't use the panic button," he said, giving me a pointed glare as I continued to giggle. "I think he was just upset that he had to find out about the situation via a police scanner and a random employee."

I sighed as my giggles faded away. "What did he want me to do? Text him that someone fired a gun and it hit a few feet away? Yeah, that would have kept him real calm." I paused, looking down at my now steady hands, resting on the counter top. "Besides, I don't think any text I sent would have been readable. My hands were shaking pretty bad."

"He was worried that the scanner mentioned Morelli and nobody had heard from you since this morning. Genny, cut your Papa some slack. He doesn't want to see you hurt."

"He made that abundantly clear," I said on an eye roll. "He even mentioned an obituary and Mama. So have they found the guy yet?"

"No, Ranger has a whole fleet of men out searching for him though. Not to mention a couple guys in the tech department pulling information on him."

I adjusted my position so that I was leaning back, my elbows braced against the counter. "So what do we know about the guy so far?"

"You really wanna know?" he asked, turning back to attend to the food. I made an affirmative noise, crossing my legs and settling in a bit more. "Okay. He was charged with attempted murder years back. Spent the eight years in prison in Ohio but was transferred to New Jersey a couple of years ago."

"Is this the guy Dad warned Papa about?" I asked. "The one out for revenge?" He nodded, still attending to the food. "Do we know who he wants revenge on?"

"Interview transcripts point toward a woman back in Ohio, but that doesn't explain why he'd be prowling the streets here rather than making plans for Ohio. Or why he would target you."

A furrow crease my brow at this information. "Do we know it was me he was targeting?" I asked. "I mean, it seems hardly likely. Ten years ago I was here. Not to mention I was only four years old."

"I don't know, Gen," he shrugged, turning to face me again. "That's about all I know." The way he avoided my eye when he said this made me believe that there was more that he knew but probably wasn't allowed to tell me. I could understand that, I guess. Don't wanna fill the teenager's head with scary details of a criminal who may or may not be after her.

"Those two ladies were in the lobby again this morning," I informed him, changing the subject.

"I know, I read Demon's report."

I jumped off the stool and moved to the fridge to help myself to a bottle of water. "The tall one – her name's Michelle – she has a cold. Could barely talk. She seems nice though. She likes my hair."

Tank stopped dead in what he was doing and looked at me, a concerned expression on his face. "You spoke to them?" he asked. When I nodded, he set down what he was holding and laid his hands flat on the counter. I could feel him squelching down some unhelpful anger or annoyance as he simply stared at me, his jaw ticking. Tank may be my best friend most of the time, but was still an adult and one of Papa's employees, not to mention Papa's oldest friend, so it was no surprise when he pulled the concerned adult act. Not that I thought it was an act. It was totally genuine. I'm just saying, he's an adult and adults do the concerned thing when they think you've done something potentially dangerous. Like now, I guess.

"You shouldn't have done that," he told me sternly, which I guess is what Demon was trying to tell me when I kept speaking over him. Now that I think about it, Papa may have a rule about me speaking to clients, but I couldn't for the life of me recall the wording.

"It was just a little chat, Tank," I whined, "What harm could it do?" I was getting a real sense of de ja vu about this conversation.

"Did it cross your mind that they may not be here for our help, but here to get inside the building in order to plant a bomb or something? If they figured out your relationship to Ranger they could target you!"

I unscrewed the top of my water and took a gulp before replying. "Don't worry. Carter spun a lie about me being a random foster kid that you all couldn't stand to get rid of yesterday and today I gave them a fake name."

"What name did you give them?" Tank asked.

"I used my middle name," I confessed. "It was the first name that popped into my mind."

"They could still trace it back to your real name if they have any information on Ranger," he said exasperatedly. "How many times have I told you that fake names should be completely fake?"

I thought about it a moment as I put the top back on my water. "Well, this seems to be the first, so I'm gonna go with... one. But I promise I'll remember in the future." He nodded and continued what he'd been doing a moment ago while I hoisted myself up to sit on the counter beside the microwave. "You really think they could be bad guys... uh... bad people?" I asked, picking up a pen that sat next to the memo pad on the bench and starting to spin it around my fingers. "They seemed really nice to me. Although there _is_ something odd about them."

"Carter mentioned some odd things about them yesterday as well," Tank said. "What did you notice?"

"Well, Michelle always wears these massive sunglasses. Doesn't take them off when she's inside. She's probably hiding something behind them. Maybe she has an abusive husband or something and that's why they're here. To get protection against him. And Jan – that's the short blonde – she seems familiar. I haven't really thought about it much, but I feel like I know her from somewhere." _Jan, Jan, Jan,_ I thought hopelessly.

And then it hit me. I was pretty sure I knew where I'd seen her before.

Jumping down from the counter, I was halfway to the door before I thought to tell Tank what I was doing. "I think I cracked it," I said quickly, barely paying attention to anything but my thoughts. "See if you can get a security still of the women, I'll be back in a minute."

Steph's POV

I sat on the sofa of my hotel room and stared blankly at the coffee table while Janelle fixed me a cup of tea. There was no way I could stand this pressure in my gut much longer. Something was wrong and they weren't explaining anything. They said I needed to remember on my own and the way things were going, I couldn't see that happening.

For the past week I'd been feeling like something was missing from my life. I was constantly double checking everything when I left the apartment I shared with Janelle and Diesel because I had this niggling thought that I'd forgotten something. After sixteen years of living in Ohio with nary a thought for Trenton and all I'd left behind I suddenly found myself thinking about Ranger, and Joe and my parents. When I'd voiced my thoughts to Janelle she'd suggested we take a trip back home to see them all. After arriving at the hotel I had wanted to go straight to my parent's house, but Janelle insisted that we had to see Ranger before anyone else.

Easier said than done.

Yesterday we'd fronted up to the Rangeman lobby, which surprised me by being pretty much exactly the same as I remembered it. Same desk. Same file cabinets. Same paint job. Same marble like tiling. The computer was new, as was the Merry Man sitting behind it, but I couldn't very well expect Hal to still be sitting there after sixteen years, could I? The one thing that I hadn't expected to find in the lobby was a beautiful teenage girl with brilliant blue eyes and glossy dark brown hair. The man behind the desk, Carter I believe the girl had called him, mentioned that she was a foster child that they'd grown attached to. She certainly seemed the vivacious rough and tumble type that the Merry Men would get a kick out of.

The moment I got a good look at her I felt this pang in my chest. It was like all the times I thought I was forgetting something but worse. It was eating at me almost painfully.

To cut a long story we didn't get to see Ranger yesterday, but secured an appointment time... for next week. I couldn't wait that long, and Janelle seemed to feel my urgency as well, because she suggested returning to Rangeman this morning to try again. We turned up mid-morning (my Rangeman standards at least, it was more like early morning for me) to find the girl sitting on the counter arguing with a different Merry Man. Today her hair was wildly curly and falling out of her pony tail all over the place. It reminded me of my own hair in its natural state. It brought up a new bout of frustration that I had allowed Janelle to talk me into using chemicals to reduce my curls to waves and then die it red – she calls it auburn, but the bottle definitely said red.

That now familiar feeling of loss had struck my heart again as I shook hands with the teen, but I didn't know what it meant until now.

"Janelle?" I called, turning around on the couch cushion to look over to the kitchenette. "That girl we saw at Rangeman..."

"Anne?" she asked

"Who does she remind you of?" I asked.

She didn't answer right away, but I noticed her hand falter as she moved the tea bags from the cups to the bin. Her eyes sought Diesel across the room, silently asking a question of her own. Stupid secrets. Stupid whatever it was they did to my brain. I can't believe I forgot all about my dear Maggie.

"Do you remember any more?" Diesel asked, rather than let the silence stretch on or allow Janelle to answer the question I'd asked.

I groaned in frustration. "Just vague feelings," I admitted. "Why won't you tell me anything?"

"Dave said it would be better to let it come back naturally, rather than forcing it by gulping down the information before you're ready," Janelle explained gently, referring to the Healer stationed at the Unmentionable Headquarters in Ohio. The place I'd been working as a secretary for the last fifteen years or so.

"Well, does Dave know how maddening it is to sit here and not really recall anything, but have vague ideas and feelings about it?" I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest and pouting in a very immature, yet oddly satisfying way.

Diesel considered this a moment before grinning at me. "Probably not," he agreed. "So talk things out, start with what you remember and move on to what you feel about it."

Sighing for the umpteenth time since waking up this afternoon, I uncrossed my arms and leaned my head back on the couch, gathering my thoughts into some kind of order before starting. "I suppose the beginning is when I left Trenton, yeah?" I waited for Janelle's murmured confirmation as she settled into the couch next to me to continue. "So I left Trenton and you said I could stay with you for a while. Which I did. Then there's some vague recollections of having my own place... and Magenta." A smile graced my face at the thought of my cute little baby. "My little Maggie," I sighed. "There's something about being really sick. Poison comes to mind. A couple of bomb scares too?" Shaking my head against the fog that lingered through my memory of that time, as if the action would clear the thoughts, I grunted and sat up. "After that I remember waking up in the unmentionable compound and being told that I was in some kind of witness protection program. Not that anyone would really tell me _why_ I was in the program. You all called me Michelle instead of Stephanie and made me do it too whenever talking to other people."

"What else is there, honey?" Janelle asked, patting my thigh.

"Maggie wasn't there when I woke up in the compound. I never noticed her missing though. It was as if she was wiped from my memory. As if she'd never happened." I blinked back the tears stinging my eyes and looked directly into Diesel's calm gaze. "What happened to her?"

Diesel shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Steph, I can't tell you," he said, just as his phone began to ring.

Genny's POV

I practically flew up to Papa's apartment, almost knocking over Auntie Mare on my way through the living room to the two boxes still housed there from when Diesel first showed up. I muttered a rushed apology over my shoulder as I knelt by the boxes, digging inside them until I came upon the photo album.

"Is everything alright?" I heard Auntie Mare ask from behind me as I pawed through the pages, looking for a clear picture. When I finally found it, it was like a punch to the stomach. All the air in my lungs whooshed out and I sat back on my heels, stunned. "Gen, what's wrong?" Auntie Mare insisted, kneeling on the floor beside me. Wordlessly, I picked up the photo album, still open to the page that showed Mama and Janelle standing side by side and passed it to her. "This is Steph," she said slowly. "Your mother. But who's the woman with her?"

Finally gulping some air back into my lungs, I stared at the picture some more. "That's Diesel's wife, Janelle," I whispered, completely dumfounded.

"I don't get it," she said. "You've looked at this album a half dozen times in the past few days. Why are you suddenly looking at it in awe?"

"Come with me," I ordered, snapping out of my trance and heading for the door. I jogged down the stairs with Auntie Mare behind me, huffing and puffing and complaining about not using the lift. I burst into Tank's apartment to find him at his laptop, hitting the print button. "Did you get it?" I asked, watching him cross to the printer as it spat out a page.

"Of course I got it," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Now what's this big discovery?"

I held up one finger and started rummaging through Tank's desk drawers, looking for the right colour marker. The whole time, I kept Mama's photo album in my left hand, my finger stuck between the appropriate pages. "Aha!" I cried, grabbing up the brown felt tips that looked to be left over from when I was seven. I pressed the album open on the desk and motioned them both over to me. Tank set the printout beside the album and leaned in to get a good look.

"What exactly are we looking for in these to pictures?" Auntie Mare asked, leaning in from the other side.

I coloured in Jan's hair so that it was a medium brown colour and Michele's so that it was a darker brown then stepped back. They both gasped and leaned in closer.

"Tha-That's -," Auntie Mare stuttered.

"Hell, they're dead ringers," Tank breathed.

"It's Mama," I murmured. Then I realised what I was saying. The force of it had my knees weakening and I quickly sat down in the chair behind me. "Tank. Tank, I spoke to my Mama this morning. I saw her and spoke to her in the flesh. She was here! In the lobby. This morning!" My eyes widened. "I gave Mama a fake name!"

"She gave you a fake name too, Gen," Tank reminded me.

"Tank!" I exclaimed. "Do you understand what I'm telling you! I SPOKE TO MY MOTHER!"

* * *

_Well? How am I doing? Answered any questions? _


	42. Just like the Boogey Man

_For a while there I didn't think I was going to get another update out today, and as it turns out, I didn't - it has just passed midnight here in Australia. I had great intentions of having this chapter up hours ago (see: late this afternoon) but my home was full of distractions. I had to ferry my kid sister and friends over to the pool so they could have a swim to escape the heat (yes, despite Mr. Weather Man declaring that we would have rain all week the past two days have been sunny and today was actually creeping back up to usual summer temperatures), and then my mother made patty cakes which I then had to ice (I have now perfected piping reindeer detail on little cakes). But eventually, I got back to my dear Riora (that's my laptop's name) and for the last few hours, we've been working diligently to get the latest chapter out to you! Wow... unusually long splurb here... sorry about that..._

**Chapter 42**

"PAPA!" I cried urgently as I crashed through the stairwell door on the command floor less than a minute later. "PAPA!" I started racing down the hall that held the important offices. Heading for the one right at the end. Papa's office was as far away the epicentre of the control centre as possible, as he often needed quiet that could not be achieved in that area. As I ran past, head popped out of offices and around corners, trying to see what was going on. I'd made it halfway when Papa's door opened and he stepped into the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye I saw all the other heads ducked back into their respective areas, fearing Papa's wrath.

"What is it?" he asked immediately. "What's wrong?" Concern was plain as day, streaking across his face as he scanned my body for injuries.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him, a grin taking over my entire face and I stared him in the eye. "She was here," I told him, "and I talked to her, and she talked to me. I've seen her in the flesh twice in two days, Papa. And Janelle. Janelle's here too. I can't believe it didn't realise it before! It seems so obvious now!"

"What are you talking about?" Papa asked, moving closer to me and putting his hands on my shoulders. Apparently at some point I'd started to bounce up and down like a hyperactive monkey. I couldn't help it. I was that excited. All I could do was grin and babble as he steered me into his office and set me down on the couch. He promptly crouched infront of me, his hands on my knees as I continued to expend my excess energy. "Tell me what's going on," Papa requested sternly, adding as an afterthought, "Slowly."

Taking a deep breath, and grinning even wider, I opened the album up and showed him the picture of Mama and Janelle standing side by side about fourteen years ago. When he opened his mouth the comment I pressed my index finger against his lips and held out the fresh page Tank had provided for him to inspect. "Do you see it?" I asked eagerly, still bouncing in place, probably making it harder for him to see what I wanted him to see.

His eyes widened and so did my grin - if that is at all possible, surely I was reaching the limits by now. "I think I do," he said softly. "The hair is wrong but..."

I quickly presented the printout I had coloured upstairs and bit my lip, raising my eyebrows at him. "It's her, isn't it?" I asked. "That's Mama."

"It is," he said, sounding stunned as he stood and took the pages from me to look at more closely. "When was this taken?" he asked.

Tucking my feet under me so that I was now kneeling on the couch, looking over top of the paper with him. "They were taken this morning," I said excitedly. "In the lobby. And guess what!"

He cut his eyes to me, simply looking at me for a moment, seemingly unwilling to voice any guesses he may have at this point. My face felt like it was stretched out of shape as I kept getting more excited and animated. I was wriggling in place and grinning-slash-biting my lip as I moved my eye brows independently of each other. As I continued holding eye contact with him I saw the tell tale signs that I was breaking down his professional barrier. His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled a little. I reached out and pulled his lips into a goofy smile and he started laughing out loud. "I give," he finally chuckled, pulling me into his arms for a hug. "What?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, deliriously happy as I never had been before. "I spoke to her!" He looked at me questioningly. "I don't think she knew who I was," I explained. "I was in the lobby waiting for Dad to turn up and I was talking to – okay, at – Demon, and they came in wondering if they could maybe get in to see you today and we started talking. It was pretty boring stuff, but that's beside's the point. I spoke to her and she spoke to me."

"What did you talk about?" he asked curiously, sitting down on the couch with me on his lap.

"Uh..." I had to think a moment, trying to recall the mundane conversation that hadn't meant anything at the time, not to mention the obstacle of the adrenaline rush that had happened since then. "Well... She introduced herself... as Michelle. That's Mama's middle name, right?" I asked him smiling again. He nodded and I continued. "And because I know you wouldn't have wanted me to give my real name to two people who'd just turned up out of the blue in the lobby I gave my name as Anne..."

"You're middle name," he acknowledged. "Like mother like daughter."

"Yep. And then she complimented my ratty old hair."

Papa was smiling down at me, the pages still gripped in his other hand. "And why wouldn't she?" he asked me, patting my outer thigh. I felt like I was six years old again, telling Papa about my first day at school and how the other kids liked me. "You're hair is gorgeous."

I laughed at that. "And it's pretty much the same as Mama's was," I added. "Auntie Mare told me it's a little more obedient than Mama's was, but other than that it's exactly the same."

"She always complained about her hair," Papa informed me, brushing a few tendrils of my own behind my ear. "She never saw the beauty in it that everyone else did."

"Papa," I snorted. "Curls are a pain! They frizz out at the slightest hint of moisture. Do you know how hard it is to rock a frizz out?"

He gave me an amused look at brought the security stills up to look at them again. "She was really here," he murmured. The expression on his face was one of wonder and awe. I think I could identify with that. I'd been _this close_ to my mother and hadn't even realised. Hell, I'd even held a short conversation with her. From he own reactions to me I guessed she wasn't aware of it either. Whatever Diesel's people did to her was still holding on. I watched Papa's focus turn inward as he drifted away from the here and now momentarily. I didn't dare move or even squirm on his lap and disturb him.

After a few minutes he abruptly pulled out his cell phone and started dialling.

"Who are you calling?" I asked him.

"Diesel," he stated shortly.

"Can we not tell him about my encounter with Mama?" I asked quickly, thinking that if Diesel didn't know about it he couldn't tell Janelle not to bring Mama to Rangeman again until everything was settled. Not that I really knew what was left unsettled, but there had to be something, right? Papa scrutinised me for a moment, not saying anything. "Please, Papa? I just know that he'll warn Janelle and she won't come again if we tell him. And what's so wrong about talking to my mama when she doesn't know who I am?"

Finally, he nodded. "We'll discuss this later," he informed me, pressing the call button and moving the phone to his ear as it started ringing. "Dinner's in five I expect you there," Papa said into the phone. "And I want any outstanding information about the Steph situation." And with that he hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Who else knows?" he asked me and there was absolutely no need to clarify what he was talking about.

"Tank and Auntie Mare," I said. "I should go tell them to keep their gobs shut on it, before Diesel gets here."

He nodded his agreement and squeezed me close for a moment before setting me on the floor so I could hurry away.

!

"How was your day?" Auntie Mare asked me, catching me as I stuffed another forkful of stir fry into my mouth. To fill in the time it took me to chew and swallow, she continued, "Tank said you spent time with Joe at the mall? Did you get anything out of it?"

I nodded as I swallowed. "Yeah. He wanted ideas for my birthday present. I have to hand it to him. He's learning. Last year he got me a Hello Kitty doll. I figure another couple of years and he'll relent to giving me gift vouchers or money instead of trying to pick things out himself." A chuckle went around the table at my comment, skipping over Tio Eloy. Poor guy was pretty clueless about most things when it came to people under the age of thirty.

"What's wrong with the gifts he picks out?" he asked.

Auntie Mare rolled her eyes. "Please tell me you're not seriously asking that question."

I rested my elbows on the table, having finished my meal. "I'm pretty sure he is," I said solemnly, "Which would be why my cousins and I all have a box in the back of our closets labelled _Tio Eloy Gifts."_

Tio Eloy looked shocked at this. Obviously, he thought he was a good gift buyer. "You mean you didn't really like the earrings I got you for Christmas last year?" he asked.

Laughing, I pulled back my ears to reveal my hole-less lobes. "Firstly, I don't have pierced ears. And secondly, they were massive reindeers. How on earth could you possibly think that was appropriate?"

"It was Christmas," he muttered, suddenly becoming very interested in his almost clean plate.

I turned my attention to Papa, who was also finished eating and sent a smile his way. He smiled back, knowing exactly what the smile was for. It was incredibly hard for me to contain my excitement about having met Mama in flesh, so to compensate my lack of jigging about all night, I'd been sending random smiles to him, Tank and Auntie Mare. I sent a couple to Lester and Bobby as well and though they sent smiles back their eyes were rather quizzical.

Papa cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention and addressed Diesel. "Information," he said simply. "All of it. Everything you haven't already told us."

Setting down his cutlery, Diesel laid his hands on the table in plain sight, like he was expecting to be questioned. He nodded in thought for a moment and then lifted his head. "We didn't catch the guy," he said straight up. "We tracked him fulltime for about two years after we had Steph out of the way but could never get close enough to nab him. We informed the police from the very start, but they didn't really see it as a priority."

"So he's still out there?" Lester asked. "On the loose, probably poisoning other women as we speak."

"Not exactly," he hedged. When Papa motioned for him to go on, he hastily added the details that were missing, practically without pausing for a breath. "We never got him, but the police did. He's been locked up for the last ten years on attempted murder charges in several states."

"So he's not dead like you promised Steph, but he's locked up?" Bobby surmised.

"Ahh... not really..." Diesel was once again sitting on the fence.

"What do you mean, 'not really'?" Auntie Mare demanded, leaning toward him with a menacing glint in her eye.

Gulping back a lump that had visibly formed in his throat, Diesel said slowly and carefully, "He was released last week, which is part of the reason I came out this way."

I sat back in my chair. Stunned. Everything was coming together in my brain, but I couldn't voice my opinions on the matter at current. All communication between brain and body had been severed to better aid the quest for making connections. The guy who had tried to kill Mama had gotten out of jail last week. Dad had warned Papa and me last some time recently that an old enemy of Mama's just got out of jail and was looking for some kind of revenge... had that been early this week or late last week? What if they're the same guy? Knowing Mama's luck they probably are. And what about the shooting this afternoon? Was it him again? Did he know that I'm Mama's daughter? Or was it a random shot?

"Oh, Gosh," I breathed, looking back up at Papa with wide eyes. "It's him. He's the guy that shot at me. He knows I'm Mama's daughter. He wants me! He can't have Mama so he wants me instead! I'm so dead. I won't be able to leave the building anymore. Probably I shouldn't even go down to the lobby. He could shoot right through the glass door if he tracked me down. Papa, I don't wanna spend the rest of my life as a hermit! I'm only fourteen! I have my whole life ahead of me! I was going to go to college and become a... well I don't know exactly what I was going to become, but I was gonna make you so proud!" I paused to draw in a gasping breath and made the biggest realisation of them all. "I've never even kissed a boy! How can I live my entire life in this building if I've never kissed a boy? Oh my gosh. I'm gonna die in here, aren't I? I'm.. I'm..." _I'm hyperventilating,_ my brain finished as my lungs refused to take in enough air, _I'm gonna pass out._ "I..."

Swift as tiger I was wrenched away from the table, still in my chair and my head was thrust between my knees. "Breath," Tank's calm voice told me, his hand on the back of my neck, holding my head down. "Breath slowly and try to push against my hand."

I did as he said, relieved when the world lost its new fuzziness and the roaring in my ears died down. It its place though, came an onslaught of tears that I just couldn't hold back. Tank released me and I was gathered tight against someone's chest. When I sniffed back the snot threatening to drool out of my nose I caught a hint of a familiar scent and realised it was Papa. He stroked my hair and rubbed my back as I sobbed into his t-shirt.

"I d-don't w-w-wa-want-t to die-ie," I managed to get out between great gasping sobs which, in retrospect, were quite pathetic.

"You're not going to die, Genny-babe," Papa soothed close to my ear. "I won't let it happen. Just like I never let the bogey man get you and I never let you get lost when we went hiking. I won't let this guy get near you again."

"You think it was the same guy from the shooting today, too?" Tank asked softly from somewhere nearby.

Suddenly, Auntie Mare was there, taking over Papa's back rubbing and cutting an icy tone into the air. "What shooting today?" she demanded. "Are you trying to tell me that someone shot at my niece? Why didn't anyone tell me sooner? What happened? Are you okay?" I assume the last part was aimed at me, but I didn't answer her. I couldn't just yet. I was still trying to get my tears and snot under control.

"There were shots fired at the mall today," Tank explained patiently. "They shattered a store front window near where Gen was walking with Morelli."

And just like that, Lester and Bobby, the worry warts, were there, filling in what little space was left around me. I felt like I was losing air again, and not because I was hyperventilating. My personal space bubble had suddenly been invaded by four big men and a woman and the vent system just couldn't keep up. Hoping Papa would get the idea, I shrank closer to him, trying to open up some space between me and the rest of them.

"Everyone back off," Papa ordered, having interpreted my actions correctly. "Give us a little space." In the next instant, everyone was gone, probably cowering on the other side of the room or something, and I managed to lift my face away from Papa's chest. "Are you okay?" he asked me, staring deep into my eyes. It was like he was looking into my soul, or trying to read my mind or something.

"I'm sorry for freaking out... again," I muttered, wiping some lingering moisture off my cheeks with the back of my hand.

"That's not what I asked, Genny-babe," he said firmly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," I sighed. "Just a little frazzled is all."

He brushed my hair back from my face, like he always does and suggested softly, "Maybe we should call it a night so you can go upstairs and relax."

"No." I wiped my running nose on my sleeve and put on a brave face. "We need to hear the rest of what Diesel has to say. We need to know everything." Moving back to the table, I sat down in my seat again and motioned for everyone else to do the same. To my surprise they did, except Auntie Mare who dashed over to the kitchenette to make coffee.

When everyone was settled, I stared pointedly at Diesel, waiting for him to divulge the rest of the information. "That's pretty much it," he said lamely. Every eye was on him now. "Now that he's out again we're trying to get a hold him so we can... exterminate as per my promise to Steph. And of course, now your guys are on the case as well," he said to Papa. "So we've doubled our chances of getting him."

"Why didn't you involve them from the beginning?" Tio Eloy enquired, sounding like he hadn't paid much attention to every other discussion that had taken place since Diesel's arrival. "He'd be dead already if you'd gotten Rangeman on the case. They're the best in the business." After a short contemplative pause, he turned to his younger brother and asked, "What business is that, exactly?"

Papa let out what could have been an exasperated sigh, but was probably just a slightly heavier exhalation, and ignored Tio Eloy. "Why is he after Steph?"

"From what we can gather," Diesel began, "she accidentally exposed a few of his buddies illegal activities over a dozen years ago." He took an appreciative sip of the coffee Auntie Mare set in front of him. "Drug, arms and poison trade," he added.

"So that's everything?" I asked, quite calmly, in comparison to my state of freak a few minutes previous. "There's no more little surprises up your sleeves like maybe some siblings I don't know about?"

Diesel chuckled at the suggestion, but shook his head. "That's everything I needed to tell you. I can finally let my wife know that I've completed her mission."

"Janelle was the one who made you tell us everything?" I enquired, taking my hot chocolate in both hands and holding it under my nose so I could breathe in the soothing aroma.

He nodded and looked at his watch. "Wow, I did realise what the time was," he stated. "I told Janelle I'd be back as soon as I could. She's been having some trouble with keeping Steph calm today." And, in typical dirty stopout fashion, he vanished before any of us could even comment.

!

Steph's POV

"You have to eat," Janelle told me, pushing the bowl of soupy noodles closer to me on the table. "You have to stay strong if you want to-."

I cut my eyes to her and glared, the look alone causing her to trail off. Over the last couple of hours she'd been treating me like a child. An ill-behaved, sick child at that. After Diesel left she ran me a bath and told me to sit in it until I felt better or the water turned cold, whichever came first. Well I certainly wasn't feeling any better and like hell was I going to allow myself to sit in a tub of water that was getting cold. I'd gotten out when it reached body temperature and was now dressed in an oversized t-shirt, a pair of Donald Duck boxers, fluffy, cutesy slippers and a robe, sitting at the small dining table of the hotel room.

"Swear to God," I croaked to Janelle, "If you say anything remotely like 'you need to keep you strength up if you want to beat this cold' I _will_ find a way to transfer my bad karma to you."

She pursed her lips in that certain way she does that makes me want to take back what I said and hug her, but simply pushed the bowl another inch toward me. "I won't say it if you eat," she compromised.

To make her feel better, I picked up the bowl and slurped down some of the broth-like contents. "I just wanna know what happened," I said to her, setting the bowl down again. "Can you give me a hint?"

"Sorry, hun, I'm under strict instructions not to. And you know what these unmentionables are like. They'll _know_ if I tell you. You'll just have to try to remember on your own. Think out loud if it helps."

I rolled my eyes as I twirled some noodles around my fork. "I just keep picturing Maggie. Her perfect little round cheeks and blue eyes smiling back at me as I tucked her into her car seat. And I feel sad that she looked so happy because..." I shook my head, trying to clear away a bit of lingering fog around the thought as I forked noodles into my mouth. "... I don't know why. I was dreading something that was going to happen, maybe?"

"Keep with it," Janelle urged. "It'll come to you. I promise."

Sighing, I pushed the bowl away. "Every time I think I've got it, it floats away again. It's like catching smoke, Jan. I need the mental equivalent of a glass jar with a lid if I'm gonna regain all this memory. How much memory is there that I'm supposed to be missing?"

She gave me a sympathetic smile, which I hated, I don't need anyone's sympathy, and patted my hand. "A couple of years worth. It could take some time. Don't give up."

I snorted at that. "Like I could possible give up when I have no idea what happened to my only daughter." A thought occurred to me just then, and I sagged back in my chair. "She's probably all grown up now," I said to no one in particular. "I haven't seen her in a dozen or so years, right? She'd be in her teens by now. I wonder how she's coping without me."

* * *

_You know that feeling you get when you were going to do something, or say something and then someone else does or says something first and you suddenly forget what it is and can't for the life of you remember, even when you try to replicate the situation in which the thought or urge occurred? Yeah, I bet that's how Steph feels right now. Don't forget to review!_


	43. She Doesn't Know Who I Am

_Despite a near crippling bout of writer's block this afternoon when I sat down to work on the latest chapter, I am updating. I persevered through almost four hours of not knowing how to write what I needed to write to get this chapter out to you. And amazingly, it's out earlier than yesterday's chapter. The story content has officially passed the one hundred thousand word mark (that's just the story without all my random comments at the beginning and end of each chapter). This shocks me. Anyway, more rain set in today and it's supposed to rain for another few weeks, which means I will have a wet Christmas. No way am I complaining about that. Usually it's stinking hot on Christmas Day and we spend the day in front of a fan wishing we still had a pool (our house doesn't have air conditioning). Anyway. Enjoy this chapter._

**Chapter 43**

There are three things worse than sitting through boring classes. The first is listening to Nana Bella tell me how many people in town are going to burn in hell for the sins they've committed. The second is doing the assignments for said boring classes. Finally, and possibly the most annoying, boring, frustrating thing in the world, besides boring classes, was sitting through Demon's silence. Three hours I'd been perched on the file cabinet behind his desk, and I don't think he'd even acknowledged my presence. I'd tried coaxing him into a conversation for the first half hour, but there's only so much I can when he will only respond with grunts and head shakes. After that I'd taken to playing Space Invaders on my phone. Usually, I would have walked away after about ten minutes, but today I was hoping Mama would turn up again.

It had taken a while after Diesel disappeared last night for me to convince Papa that I should be allowed to sit in the lobby and wait for Mama and Janelle to show up, but he'd eventually agreed, after I reminded Papa of my anxieties about meeting my mother for the first time and explaining how I thought it would be good if I could spend time with her with absolutely no pressure involved.

"Maybe it'll help Steph get her memory back as well?" Auntie Mare had mentioned, and I could tell that her suggestion helped a lot in Papa's decision.

From there the guys had gone into planning mode. Let me give you the gist of what they decided. I was to wait in the lobby until Mama and Janelle turned up, not giving any clue that I know who they really are. I would have a short conversation with them, maybe garnering a little more information about them, and send Papa a text that they were here. Papa, of course, had rearranged his entire schedule so that he could drop what he was doing fairly quickly in order to make time to see Mama. There was obviously an important reason she wanted to see Papa, otherwise she wouldn't be so persistent about it. Papa would ring down to reception and get Demon to send Mama and Janelle up.

So it worked out perfectly on all accounts. I got to see Mama again, Mama and Janelle got their meeting with Papa, and Papa got to see Mama for the first time in close over thirteen years. Of course, I wouldn't be able to sit in on the meeting, since I was supposed to be some foster kid they all felt sorry for, but Lester was setting up a live feed of the security footage to the television in Papa's apartment so I could watch how Mama and Papa interact.

I was super excited about the whole situation, which is why I'd been in the lobby since eight o'clock this morning and hadn't left due to lack of stimulation. It was now almost eleven o'clock and I was starting to think they weren't going to come.

"Where are they?" I asked Demon, even though the chances of him replying slim to none.

Typically, Demon just grunted and moved the mouse a bit more clicking a couple of times as he scrutinised the screen.

"You know you're not very fun, right?" I shifted over to the counter again and sprawled on top of it so that I was practically hanging over the top of his computer monitor, looking at an upside down game of solitaire. "Does Papa know that you sit here all day playing solitaire? Aren't you supposed to be doing some kind of paperwork or something? I thought receptionist duty meant double duty because we almost never have people come through the front door." I looked a little more closely at his screen and pointed to one of the cards. "Move that card over to there."

He levelled a stare at me that was completely void of emotion. I took it as my cue to continue talking to him. "So what happened to Carter?" I asked. "He was supposed to have another two weeks of receptionist duty left. Why isn't he here? Did you kill him because you were so desperate for his place? You know you could have just told Tank that you wanted the receptionist job. There was no reason to get all murderous. Maybe that's why you were hired. Sometimes you need a kill expert on the team. I can't imagine the exact situation in which such a skill would be uber useful, but I suppose there must be one. I mean, you were hired weren't you."

"Do you ever shut up?" he asked in that same gravelly voice I'd heard yesterday. I jumped in surprise, not expecting a reply of any kind, and almost fell off the counter. The only thing that stopped such an occurrence was the fact that Demon immediately shot his hand out and grabbed the front of my shirt. He held on until I had rebalanced myself and then abruptly let go.

"Whoah there," I cried, smoothing the fabric over my chest. "Wanna give a girl some warning before you start talking out of the blue?"

His face twisted into a weird expression that might have been amusement, but I was so used to seeing his blank stare that I couldn't quite comprehend this new formation of features. With a twitch of his lips he said, "I'm about to start talking," he informed me. I put my hand flat on my chest over my heart in feigned surprised. "I didn't kill Carter. He's been fast tracked."

"Fast tracked to where?" I asked. I'd never heard of someone being fast tracked from the receptionist gig, or anywhere for that matter. Fast tracking? I thought Papa was against rewarding his employees. Especially the new ones, because it gave the wrong impression.

"He's been moved to the core team," Demon grunted, turning back to the computer screen and blocking me out when I tried to get more information out of him.

When he continued to ignore me, I pulled my phone from my pocket once more and hopped off the counter. I dialled Tank and waited patiently for him to pick up. It took him a few minutes but eventually he got to me.

"What's up, Gen?" he answered. "Any sign of your mother?"

"Nothing yet," I replied. "I was just wondering what happened to Carter. Demon said he'd been fast tracked to the core team? I didn't think Papa did that kind of thing."

Tank snorted on the other end of the phone and I had the distinct impression that he was amused. "I see how it is," Tank said. "You like him, don't you?" I refused to comment on that, so a slight pause stretched between us. "Don't worry," Tank eventually said. "I won't tell Ric."

I thanked him for this small grace. He always did keep my secrets; at least I assumed he kept my secrets. Papa never confronted me about anything if Tank _had_ confided in him. Then again, maybe he was just thankful that I was sharing with a responsible adult. I imagine that's the kind of thing parents and guardians would think about this kind of thing. "So what happened to Carter?" I asked.

"I moved him to the core team," Tank informed me. "He has observational skills that surpass the rest of us combined. He could tell you how many polka dots are on a page simply by glancing at it."

"So he won't be working reception anymore?" I asked. How did I feel about that? On the one hand, Papa trusted the core team with more intimate information than he did the company on a whole which meant that there was a greater possibility that Carter would be involved in matters concerning my security (yeah, he makes no secret of the fact that my security is one of the highest priorities for his company. It kind of makes me feel like the president at times). On the other hand, the Lost Boys on the core team were invariably busier than the rest of them.

A chuckle floated down the line, causing me to wrench my thoughts back to the conversation. "No. No more reception duty for Carter. But don't worry, I'm sure you'll figure out a way to get to see him in his new office on a semi regular basis."

"You're making fun of me," I complained. "That's mean." I paced passed the door and noticed a car pull to the curb. "I think she just turned up," I said into the phone. "So I'm going to continue talking to you for a couple of minutes so that it doesn't look like I'm waiting for them."

"Good plan," Tank said. He then switched to an impeccable imitation of a teenage girls voice. "So what do you like about Carter? Is it his dreamy eyes or his gorgeous abs?"

Rolling my eyes I settled into a lazy pace about the room. "And why would I tell you such details? You'd just use it against me at the first opportunity."

He gasped. "No. WAY! I totally wouldn't!" Pause. "Okay maybe I would, but tell me anyway. I'm _dying _ to know."

"I hope the guys in the control room can hear you right now. You sound ridiculous!" The door opened and in walked Mama and Janelle... I mean... Michelle and Jan. I gave them a short glance and smile of acknowledgment then casually returned my focus to the phone. "If you must know, it's his dreamy eyes AND his gorgeous abs. Not to mention he has a smile that could melt snow off a snowman. My stomach get's all jittery every time he looks at me."

"Oh, my God. That is soooo totally awesome," Tank intoned. "Tell me more."

I sighed. "Probably the most attractive thing about him is that he actually pays attention to me. Every other guy just stares at me when I talk to them. It's like they don't even speak English. He listens and responds and... I don't know. I just really like him. Don't tell anyone though!"

"Oh, Lester's at the door," he giggled. "I better go. I promise I won't tell him how much you're in luuurv with Carter!"

"Don't you dare!" I exclaimed, but he'd already hung up. I turned to see Mama and Janelle at the counter talking at – er, to – Demon. "Hey," I called, resisting the urge to skip over. For one, I was never a skipper. And two, fifteen year old girls don't skip. It's just not cool. "Back again?"

"Yes," Janelle replied. "Still hoping to get in to see Ranger. What are our chances like today?"

Demon grunted and shook his head. "Meetings," was the only word he worked out of his mouth.

"Oh," Janelle sighed. "Well, we're happy to wait, if he has an opening later." Another grunt emitted from Demon which we all ignored and he returned his full attention to the computer screen. Sometimes I wonder how these guys can be so fit when the sit on their butts all day playing solitaire. Janelle started leading Mama over to the waiting chairs on the opposite wall. What I could see of her face around the massive sunglasses was awful pale and she seemed to have a hard time keeping her balance as she leaned heavily on Janelle, shuffling her feet.

"Are you alright?" I asked, not having to feign concern. This woman was my mother, and she was obviously sick.

"I'm fine, dear," Mama croaked out. "Just a little stomach bug." I forced myself to take a step back as if I was afraid of catching her illness. In all truthfulness, if I did catch whatever she had I would cherish every moment of my illness because I would know I got it from my mother. Okay, not make a pun, but that just sounded a little sick. I'm sure the novelty of getting something from my mother would wear off after about an hour stuck in a room with Bobby and Lester, the coddlers.

Mama let out a husky chuckle at my reaction as she lowered herself into the chair. "Don't worry. I'm not contagious."

"Just pig headed," Janelle muttered. "We should have stayed at the hotel. You need to rest."

"I'll be fine," Mama told her. "It's not like I'm running a marathon or something ridiculous like that. I'll just be sitting here, and if we're lucky make our way up to see Ranger."

Janelle sat beside her and took up classic closed body language. I don't think she wanted to be here or to talk to me. Knowing Diesel, he'd probably told her that we knew everything by now and also that I'd seen photos of her. She was probably trying to not give herself away by itching at her wig more than necessary. I ignored the tell tale signs and pulled up a chair near them, perching myself on it backwards so that I could lean on the back rest.

"How do you know Ranger?" I asked Mama. It took a lot of effort and reminding not to refer to him as Papa, but I managed it with barely a pause. I was actually really curious to hear her version of the story that Papa had summed up in about thirty words. "How did you meet?"

Mama smiled faintly, leaning her head back against the wall. "It was a very long time ago," she said. "A couple of life times have passed since then. I don't think it's really relevant any more. He probably doesn't even remember me." Her smile faded a little as she considered her own words. "He's probably moved on."

"Ohhh," I stretched the syllable out. "It was like _that_ between you and him?"

"Hardly," she chuckled, and I felt her eyes pin me in their gaze. "Our lives were too complicated for anything to become of our relationship. Not that I would have complained if he'd wanted to be like that. We did share a little-." She paused, shifting slightly in her and lifting her head to look at me better. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't be talking to you about that kind of thing. It's not exactly age appropriate." She seemed to think for a moment before asking. "How old are you?"

"Almost fifteen," I replied proudly. "And I'll have you know that I've heard some pretty outrageous things come out of the guys mouths upstairs. What you were about to say was probably pale in comparison."

She stared at me for a minute or so, and I took the opportunity to pull out my phone and send the text to Papa. I didn't want to appear too eager to get to know her. I'd just hit send and was waiting for it to process when she spoke again. "You know, I have a daughter who's probably about your age."

My first instinct was to snap my head up, thinking she'd regained her memory of me and was trying to hint at it, but I managed not to make a fool of myself or give myself away by casually sliding my phone back into pocket and scratching my nose before asking curiously, "Probably?"

"It's complicated," Mama and Janelle both said at the same time as the phone on Demon's desk rang.

"You don't remember how old your daughter is?" I pressed.

Mama sighed and shook her head. "I haven't seen her in a long time."

I was shocked into a small bout of uncharacteristic silence as I saw a tear slide out from under her sunglasses. "I- I'm, uh. I'm really sorry," I stammered. "I shouldn't have... Sorry,"

"It's okay," Mama assured me, swiping a finger under her glasses to clear away the tears. "You didn't know."

"You miss her?" I asked, struggling to keep my emotions out of my voice and off my face.

"With all my heart," she said solemnly, reaching out to pat my shoulder. The moment she made contact we both gasped.

An odd tingle travelled down my spine, making me shudder and think of when I'd first held the package she'd put together for me. It took every ounce of my will power not to jump up and hug her. She had quickly retracted her hand from my shoulder and was looking at me oddly. At least it seemed like an odd look from what I could see. Janelle, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, was looking between the both of us nervously. I simply stared at Mama, willing her to recognise me.

"He'll see you now," Demon's crackly voice called across the room, breaking through the tense moment that had grown. "If you could step over to the elevator, I'll send you right up."

Steph's POV

I stared at the girl, Anne, in astonishment for what felt like a long time. When I'd touched her shoulder the most sensational feeling ran down my spine. A tingle. Just like the old days. I hadn't felt my Spidey Senses in a very long time. Over a decade.

"He'll see you now," the Merry Man stationed behind the desk spoke up, and I reluctantly tore my gaze away from Anne to make sure he was talking to me. "If you could step over to the elevator, I'll send you right up." Within a few moments I was inside the elevator and the Merry Man was pressing a familiar button on the panel inside the door. "He'll be waiting for you when you step off," he informed us in his gruff voice as the door closed.

I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves and turned to Janelle. "I don't think I can do this," I told her.

"You'll be fine," Janelle assured me, squeezing my hand, but she looked deep in thought, paying little attention to my minor freak out.

Before I was ready, the doors pinged open I found myself swallowing back bile. It would not do to vomit on Ranger's shoes the first time I saw him in over a decade.

* * *

_ I know what you're probably thinking, and I'm sorry, but I really did have to end it there. Don't forget to review._


	44. The Meeting

_It is currently 0130 hours on December 25th (MERRY CHRISTMAS!) and having finished the book I was reading this afternoon, I needed something to do that would encourage drowsiness. I had originally been planning on waiting until Boxing Day to finish of this chapter, but now seemed a convenient time. So I'm going to leave you to do some reading (if you're not rushing about doing last minute preparations for Christmas Day that is...) and go to bed so that Santa can come =P._

**Chapter 44**

Ranger's POV

I was just finishing up a phone meeting with Cale, the manager of my Miami office when I received Magenta's text. After hanging up I looked around my office. My gaze snagged on the few framed photos of Magenta from various stages of her childhood. I wondered if I should hide them from view just in case it distressed Steph, but remembered the bulk of the text I had just received. "She remembers about me but doesn't recognise me." A moment more of consideration and I decided to leave them as they were. If she saw them, maybe it would jog her memory. With that, I called down to the lobby to get Demon, a less than enthusiastic new recruit I had been reluctant to hire, to send the women up. And then went to wait for them by the elevator.

While I waited, I mentally prepared myself for the sight I was about to be met with. This would be my first real look at Steph since she came to see me the day she died. The day I had found out about Magenta. Despite how it had ended, it turned out that Steph had given me the best gift I could have hoped for that day. I can't imagine what my life would be like if I didn't have Magenta in my life. Seeing her is the brightest part of each day, even if I'm just checking on her while she sleeps, which I often do just to assure myself that she really is real. Her bouncy personality and never die attitude remind me so much of Steph that it sometimes hurt to think that she would never know her mother.

Then of course, all of those worries and regrets had been completely turned upside down in the past week and a half. First with the package that Steph had lovingly prepared for her years ago and boxes of things Diesel had turned up with. And then with the knowledge that Steph was still alive.

Better than that, she was here in Trenton. In my elevator, in fact.

As the doors opened I reminded myself firmly, that I did not know it was Steph and her friend Janelle and needed to refer to them as Michelle and Jan. At least until I reached the solitude of my office.

Janelle stepped out first, urging Steph along beside her. She seemed to be supporting a fair amount of her weight. I took in Steph's wavy auburn hair and still slim figure before moving my attention to her face. She was overly pale – more so than I remembered her being – and seemed to have a greenish tinge to her skin.

"Carlos Manoso," I said, offering my hand for them both to shake. "I understand you've been trying to get a hold of me for a few days."

"Yes," the woman named Janelle, replied. "I'm Jan and this is Michelle. We were wondering if you could help us with a situation?"

"Security issues?" I asked as I lead them down the side hall to my office.

"Not exactly," she muttered.

Entering the room, I motioned for them to sit and moved to the side bar where I kept a jug of water and a couple of glasses. "Can I get you a drink?" I asked, specifically to 'Michelle', she looked quite ill.

"Water would be great," she confirmed croakily. "Thank you."

I took a moment to ensure that the door was fully closed before settling behind my desk, adjusting the most recent photo of Gen that sat on the corner before placing my hands flat on the surface and pinning Steph with a pointed look. She paused mid sip, her sunglasses still obscuring most of her face and I could feel a tension rolling off her. She gulped down her drink and set the glass on the edge of the desk.

"Take the sunnies off, Babe," I said, quirking an eyebrow at her. "I've been over thirteen years without your beautiful blues. Don't make me wait any more."

"You -," she started, but cut herself off to try again. "I – But – You -."

"You didn't really think I wouldn't recognise you, did you?" I asked.

"It's been a long time," she mentioned, her voice hoarse. "I just figured you wouldn't remember me."

"Wouldn't remember you?" I was stunned. How could anyone ever forget such an incredible reason? Even if I hadn't had Magenta I would have thought of Steph often. That she could think so little of herself showed how out of sorts she was at the moment. Pushing those thoughts away for the time being, I addressed the reason she was here. "So what brings you here that isn't exactly security?"

"Wait," Steph said, leaning toward me and gazing into my eyes. "You're not mad?"

Smiling sadly at her, I replied, "Mad that you're alive after all these years? How would I even manage that kind of thing?"

She sagged with relief. "I thought you were going to yell at me for not letting you know where I was," she admitted. In the next moment she was almost like her old self as she started talking to herself. "What a stupid idea that was to entertain! Ranger's never yelled at me, well, not in anger anyway..."

Janelle cleared her voice awkwardly, startling Steph from her thoughts and drawing my attention to her. She perched on the edge of her seat and nervously twisted the strap of her bag between her hands. When I looked at her and let my gaze flicker to her hands she immediately stopped and plonked the bag on the floor beside her feet. "Sorry," she muttered. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be nervous, Janelle. Just tell me what you need help with. I'm here to help."

They exchanged a look, both hesitating for different reasons. Steph because she was probably trying to work up the courage to tell me she'd had a child and Janelle because she didn't know how much to say in front of Steph. I would have to get her alone to see what her side of all this was.

"Um," Steph ummed. "I'm not sure how to say this. Where to start? The beginning, I guess."

"Why don't you start with he already knows?" Janelle suggested softly, giving me a nervous eye.

With a nod she launched into an explanation of why she left town sixteen years ago.

Genny's POV

My eyes were glued to the screen as I watched Mama interact with Papa and vice versa. He spoke softly to her, always sending her reassuring half smiles as she spoke about the past and encouraging her to tell him everything. She paused frequently, muttering things to herself as her focus seemed to turn inward. It was like she was thinking but she was saying her thoughts out loud as she had them. This fascinated me. It was the kind of little quirk nobody would mention about a person, because it wasn't generally the kind of thing that really stuck in your brain, but to me, it was a detail I would remember forever. My mother liked to think with her mouth. A couple of times, as she did Papa would murmur a comment and she would blush and look away with a sighed, "I said that out loud didn't I?"

As soon as the elevator doors were closed, I was on my feet, racing toward the stair well and then leaping and bounding up the flights until I reached the seventh floor. Out of breath, I'd stumbled into the living room where Lester already had the image of Papa's office up on the television.

I was now sat atop a mountain of cushions I had removed from the couch and piled on the floor about three feet from the widescreen TV a half eaten apple hanging forgotten in one hand as my attention was fully absorbed by the scene before me. If any of my grandmothers were to see me at that moment, I'd have been hauled off the floor and pressed into the couch with a lecture on how my eyes would turn square if I sat that close to the TV, but I didn't care. Nor did Auntie Mare, it seemed, as she was sitting cross legged on the floor beside me, clutching a spare cushion to her chest like we were watching some terribly romantic movie, not my mother and my guardian meeting for the first time in years.

Lester and Bobby were on the couch behind us with a bowl of popcorn between them. Apparently, watching Mama was one of their favourite pastimes back in the day. Go figure.

Mama kept pausing in her latest section of explanation. Each time, her gaze would drift to somewhere else in the office and she would get a curious-cross-confused look on her face and her brow would furrow before she continued.

"Anyway, after a while I decided that I wanted a child. I felt I was ready. There was just one problem." she paused, a very noticeable blush creeping up from the neckline of her blouse to cover her face. It seemed that Mama didn't know how to tell Papa she'd used a sperm donor. She left her words hanging in the air for a long moment, averting her eyes to her lap where her hands lay still – for the moment at least. I'd noticed that Mama liked to use her hands a lot when she talked.

Wondering how Papa was handling her reluctance, I moved my gaze over to where he sat coolly behind his desk. There was no discernable expression on his face, but if you looked closely like I was – my nose was practically pressed against the screen – you could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He was enjoying watching her struggle.

Suddenly, Mama looked up and met his eyes. "Ya know what?" she said. "Let's forget about my problem and just say I got pregnant by Immaculate Conception."

"Is that the story you'd like to stick with?" Papa asked her, cocking his head a mere millimetre to the side as his lips twitched with the urge to smile.

Mama let out a sigh and shook her head. "I knew you were going to ask that," she murmured. "You always used to ask me that when I was lying to you. How do you always know when I'm lying?"

I vaguely noticed Janelle roll her eyes before she said, "Steph, you're a terrible liar. I don't know who you survived Bounty Hunting as long as you did."

I laughed when Mama stuck her nose in the air at Janelle's comment. She sniffed in indignation and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll have you know that people thought I was adorable," she defended, adding on a side, "In a clumsy, rolls-in-garbage-daily kind of way."

Papa actually broke a smile then as he agreed, "I certainly thought you were adorable."

Mama wasn't paying attention though. She was staring across the room again. The look on her face suggested she was probably deep in thought, but didn't give away what she was thinking. As I watched, she slowly rose from her seat and made her way toward the edge of the screen. The moment she was out of sight I threw my arms up in frustration at the same time Auntie Mare dismayed sound.

"Where did she go?" I exclaimed. "What was she looking at?" I spun around on my mountain of cushions to glare at Lester and Bobby. "I know there's more than one camera in Papa's office. Show me the other one." When Lester stared down at his laptop for a moment, I sighed. "I know you can skip between them easily. You do it all the time in the control room."

"If I switch to the other camera you won't be able to see Ranger and Janelle," he informed me, hitting a few keys as he spoke.

"Use picture-picture," Auntie Mare suggested. She was still gazing at the screen where both occupants were sitting silently, looking – I assume – to where Mama was. "Split the screen. Justin does it all the time," she explained, referring to her eldest son. Growing up he'd always been into the latest technology. He'd always had to have the latest game console. In his late teens he'd learned all about computers, even building a couple, and now he designed computer programs. Don't ask me what he used a split screen for, but I had no doubt that he would know how to do it.

Anxious not to miss anything important, I quickly turned back around to stare at the screen with Auntie Mare. Since I was currently unable to scrutinise my mother, I settled for taking a closer look at her friend. Her small frame was turned half around in her chair so that she could watch Mama, her hand braced on the arm of the chair. White teeth nibbled into her bottom lip, adding to the general look of worry that covered her face. Whatever Mama was doing, Janelle found it troublesome.

She glanced over her shoulder at Papa and I followed her gaze, finding Papa with his elbows on his desk, leaning forward almost hopefully.

Another spike in frustration hit me as I realised that Mama's actions seemed to be exciting Papa. "If you can't bring the picture up at least tell me what's in the general area Mama was heading to," I snapped, growing impatient. Sure, these guys were the best in the business, but right now, I would have settled for anyone who could get either a the other screen up or a picture-picture thing happening.

Steph's POV

As I averted my eyes for what felt like the millionth time since entering the office I couldn't help but realise how awkward things seemed to be between Ranger and I. Before I'd left town we'd had a fairly easy going relationship. I'd felt I could tell him pretty much anything. He was slowly revealing little pieces of the man behind the armour. Not to mention that he was always there for me when I needed, and, unlike Joe, never had the criticising, condescending tone when he turned up at my time of need. Sometimes I think that if it hadn't been for my messed up relationship with Joe (because I now realise that's what it was; completely messed up. Over the years I'd found myself wondering just how I had allowed myself to be put through all the stress and mind games he'd laid on me. I mean, he'd bought me sessions with a freaking therapist and tried to pass them off as a gift. And he wasn't even joking!) I would have been a lot closer to Ranger. Maybe not inner-sanctum close, but there wouldn't have been that underlying tension between us that always stopped me at the last minute from doing something that would ultimately set Joe off and cause me more grief.

I once again took in the odd mix of familiar and unfamiliar items in the room, trying to gauge just how much the sixteen years apart had changed him. I recognised most of the furniture from my previous visits, though I only had a vague recollection of the last time I'd been here. It must have been a little over thirteen years ago, and I was with my mother, of all people, but apart from that I just had the impression that there was a lot of angst and sadness surrounding the meeting. The more I thought about it the more I pictured myself strapping Maggie into her car seat. If I wasn't mistaken, the sadness was one and the same, but I could not for the life of me remember why I was so sad.

On previous glances I had noticed a few framed photos placed strategically around the room. At first I hadn't thought anything of it. I'd been in many offices over the year that had been decorated in a similar way, providing the occupant reminders of family and friends as they worked hard behind their desk. But then I remembered that Ranger was the type of guy to keep his home life and his work life very separate (another reason we hadn't been closer back when I was living in Trenton). I wasn't aware of anyone whom Ranger would care about enough to keep their picture in his office, but I prayed it wasn't a wife.

It sounds selfish, but I didn't want Ranger to have moved on. For some irrational reason, I wanted him to have spend the last decade and a half of his life alone. The thought of Ranger being married made my heart physically ache, and I had to stop and catch my breath a time or two.

Now, avoiding Ranger's gaze for fear that I would see a longing there that I just couldn't deal with, I looked more closely at a picture frame perched on the top of a black file cabinet. The frame was some kind of reflective metal, but that wasn't what had drawn my eye. It was bright sunshiny scene depicted within that had me out of my seat and crossing the distance to it.

As I approached I took in more and more details. The focus of the photo was a little girl hanging upside down from a set of monkey bars I recognised from my own childhood. Her face was slightly red – whether from the exertion of play or from the blood rushing to her head I couldn't be sure – and she was grinning wildly, showing off a gap where her two front teeth should have been. One hand held an overlarge pair of aviator sunglasses to her face, obscuring a great deal of her features, and the other was clasping a cap to the top of her head that read "Security". I smiled at the gleefulness displayed in the picture, but that ache in my heart sprang up again and brought along a friend in the form of pang shooting through my stomach.

_What if Ranger _had_ moved on?_

I moved my gaze to the bookshelf just beyond the cabinet, noticing two more pictures of the same girl. In one she was wearing a half mask detailed to look like a cat, the stick of a lollipop hanging out of her mouth as she smiled up at the camera. The other was a close up of the girl's face. I could see the fingers stuck into her mouth, pulling her lips apart to reveal two perfect rows of pearly white baby teeth. Her nose was wrinkled and her eyes were squinty, but I could clearly their dazzling blue colour. They were very familiar.

"Who is this girl?" I asked Ranger, attempting to sound nothing more than curious when inside something was screaming at me so insistently that I was beginning to feel a little panicked.

* * *

_If you're out there, please review. If not, well, I guess I understand how that could make reviewing difficult. Merry Christmas Y'all!_


	45. The Meeting Part Two

_I am breaking the mold of my update habits by NOT updating late at night. It is currently mid afternoon and extremely wet outside. The river that runs through town is flooded and roads have been blocked off. Considering that the river was at an all time low earlier in the year due to drought, this is an epic occurance for me. So anyway, I have for you an update. Happy reading._

**Chapter 45**

Genny's POV

"Who is this girl?" we heard Mama ask from somewhere off screen. She sounded scared, like her worst nightmare was coming true in real life. I watched the slight crinkling that flittered across Papa's forehead at her words and knew he was worried about what Mama would think of the pictures of me scattered around his office. I had a feeling that even after all this time and even though Mama was supposed to be dead, Papa still loved her with all his heart.

He looked to Janelle and started up what I recognised as communicative expressions to her, but suddenly, the screen went completely blank.

"No!" I exclaimed, my eyes widening in horror. This couldn't be happening. "No! Oh, no! No, no, no! Nononononono!" My direct line to Mama and Papa's reunion was cut off, it seemed. "Lester?"

"I'm working on it," he said quickly, and I heard him frantically tapping on the keys of his laptop. "It could take a few minutes."

"No!" I cried again. At this rate he'd probably manage to get the screen back up just as Papa showed Mama and Janelle to the door. My life was doomed. DOOMED I SAY! And yes, I know I'm being melodramatic, but I think I'm entitled to it, don't you?

Ranger's POV

"Who is this girl?" she asked solemnly. I could see the worry on her face and here the panic that had constricted her words, and I can't say I blame her. In fact, I was starting to feel the same way. How was I supposed to explain about Magenta without mentioning her mother? Furthermore, how would she react if she thought I'd moved on? I couldn't allow her to think that, I decided and swiftly brushed aside the idea of telling Steph as much of the truth as I could. It would only cause her –or maybe both of us - unnecessary hurt, and while I was hard as nails on the job, I had a feeling that Magenta had softened me over the years and I would really feel it when she looked at me with the pain in her eyes that would inevitably come if I told her.

As Steph continued to look at the photos placed around the room – all of which were of Magenta from various stages of her life – I sent an urgent look to Janelle. She had to know that I knew everything, why would Diesel not tell her? I tried to silently tell her that I was going to tell Steph everything, but she wasn't very receptive of my communications. She'd just screw up her nose, turn her head to the side and mouth 'What?' at me. Sighing, I shook my head and returned my attention to Steph just as she grasped her temples, looking like she was in pain.

Before I could even think about it, I'd crossed the room and was leading her to the couch I kept by the wall. I set her down and crouched in front of her, rubbing her arms gently like I often did for Magenta when she was scared, and murmuring softly in Spanish. I could feel Janelle standing behind me, a bundle of raw nerves and concern, but I couldn't take my eyes off Steph. Something was wrong and I didn't want her to think she was alone in this. I was here for her now, like I should have been for there for her fourteen years ago when she was being poisoned.

"Has this happened to her before?" I asked Janelle over my shoulder as I took Steph's head between my palms, hoping that mererly holding her would help with the pain. She whimpered at the contact and started to shrink back, but when I persisted she relaxed into the hold, moving her hands to rest on top of mine. I wasn't sure how it worked, but somehow I'd always had this calming touch with her.

Behind me, Janelle said nothing. A wave of fear rolled off of her and I felt the air shift as she fiddled nervously. I turned to look at her this time, and asked, "This has happened before, hasn't it?" She nodded hesitantly. "What's causing the pain? Is something wrong with her? Should I get my medic to take a look at her?"

This time Janelle shook her head from side to side. "No, he won't be able to help," she informed me sadly, moving forward to stand beside the couch so I didn't have to crane my neck back to see her.

"He's the best medic there is," I informed her. "If there's something wrong with her he'll-."

To my utter surprise, Janelle cut me off. I hadn't thought she had the courage to even look me in the eye for longer than a few seconds, but she cut me off mid sentence. "It's not an illness that medicine can help," she said and sank down onto the spare cushion beside Steph, stroking her thigh. "It's a side effect of her mind fighting off the measures Dave took to suppress her memories. The more she remembers the more sick she gets because of the toxins released from the... well, the only way I can describe it is magic. Diesel doesn't like it when I call it that, but it's what it seems like to me. They suppressed her memories using Unmentionable magic and as the magic releases its hold on her mind it also releases a small toxin to prevent her from pushing too hard. The mind can only handle so much at once."

I nodded my understanding. "If she pushed too hard the memories would all come in at once and that could cause mental problems. It's good that there's a safeguard."

Now it was her turn to nod, but she gulped down what must have been a lump forming in her throat at the same time. "I just wish I didn't have to watch her be so sick," she said.

"I'm okay," Steph said. Her voice was weak, but she removed the weight of her head from my hands and sat back a little on the couch. She smiled and grabbed my hand in hers, squeezing it a little as she laid it in her lap. "Hurt like hell for a moment, but it's gone now. I actually feel a little better." And she looked a little better too, there was colour creeping back into her complexion and her eyes seemed a little brighter.

"Did you remember anything?" Janelle asked softly, hopefully.

I watched carefully for any signs of lingering discomfort as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. Her brow furrowed and she frowned deeply, but other than that she seemed fine now. It was a huge relief to see her looking more like her old self, even if she did have auburn hair that wasn't the least bit curly.

"I remember pulling into my parent's driveway with Maggie in the back seat," she frowned some more. "I wasn't the one driving, it was Daddy. He came around and helped me out of the car and Mom came out of the house to grab Maggie. I couldn't support my own weight; Daddy had to keep his arm around me the whole way up the path and into the living room." Lifting her hands to her temples she started a light massage, keeping her eyes shut so tightly that they crinkled at the corners. "Mom wanted me to go straight to bed, but I said no. I had something important that I needed to do."

"Can you remember what that was?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"No. I just –." Abruptly, she snapped her eyes open and turned her head to the side to look at Janelle, a happy, excited expression taking away her confusion. "Did I leave Maggie with my parents?" she asked. Janelle merely shook her head sadly. Steph's face immediately fell and my heart fell with it. I hated seeing Steph like this. When I squeezed her hand reassuringly, she moved her attention to me. "Maggie was my daughter," she informed me solemnly. "Magenta Anne Plum. She was so beautiful. You'd have loved her. She had my eyes and hair and the bubbliest little laugh ever. Just hearing it would make my entire day brighten, even after the most depressing day of my life." As she spoke of the little girl she remembers a soft smile played at her lips.

"What happened to her?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.

Genny's POV

After ten maddening minutes waiting for Lester to get the screen back up, I gave up. I'd had enough of not knowing what was going on. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and made my way down to the control room, making sure Mama and Janelle weren't standing around in the middle of it before sidling out of the stairwell. I asked the first Lost Boy at the bank of monitors if the two women had come out yet, receiving a short, uninterested negative as my answer before I scurried quickly and quietly down the hall of offices to Tank's door. I pushed it open and quickly closed it after me.

Tank looked up at me from his desk, a phone held to his ear. "What's up?" he asked and I guessed he was on hold. "I thought you'd still be upstairs watching the security footage. They're still in there."

"Lester dropped the ball, he lost the feed and couldn't get it back." I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to have to get Hector to teach me how to grab live feeds to my laptop or something. I mean, this is one of the most important moments in my teenage life and he's just messed it up royally."

"Mmm," Tank murmured a slight agreement as he began tapping at the keys on his computer. A moment later he'd pulled up the feeds of both cameras in a split screen and was motioning me to come around the desk as he stood. "If you want sound plug the headphones in," he said, opening the bottom desk draw to reveal various computer gadgets and pulling out a pair of headphones. He then moved around the desk to sit in one of his visitor chairs with the handset of the phone in one hand and a memo pad in the other and I finally turned my attention back to Mama and Papa.

They were at the couch, Mama and Janelle sitting and Papa crouched in front of Mama. She held his hand in both of hers, looking at him with tears in her eyes. "I don't know," she said. "I remember a year and bit of her life, but that's it. She hasn't been in my life for a long time and I don't know where she is." She sniffed back some snot that was threatening to run out of her nose. "I was hoping you could help me find her," she explained sadly.

"Of course I will," Papa assured her, brushing away her tears the same way he always did for me.

"I know that I wouldn't have given her up if I didn't have good reason to," she continued on a small sob. "I loved her so much. I wish I knew what happened back then. I just want these memories to come back now! Why does this process have to be so slow? It's excruciating!"

In the short silence that followed Mama's words I took in every line on her face as it contorted in grief and loss. She really loved me and wanted me back. _But would she like me?_ I thought. _She was still thinking of me as the little baby she'd held in her arms and rocked to sleep at night. Would she accept me as I am now? Or would I just be a disappointment to a woman who wanted her baby back?_

As Mama threw her arms around Papa's neck I sniffed back my own running snot and angrily swiped my tears from my eyes. I had survived this long without Mama, I decided, if she didn't want me as I was I would survive the rest of my life without her. But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't true. If Mama rejected me, I'd be devastated. This was the woman I'd secretly longed for most of my life. I couldn't just turn my back on her because I thought she might not like me. Surely she would realise that even though she'd missed out on many of my firsts there were still a heap more that she could be there for. Would she understand that even though I wasn't the little baby she longed for that I still loved her and needed her?

When Mama's crying settled down Papa stood and helped her to her feet at the same time Janelle spoke, suggesting they head back to the hotel room so that Mama could get some rest. "Maybe if you relax more will come to you," she said, picking up both her and Mama's bags as Papa hugged Mama near the door.

"Thank you for not rejecting me," Mama whispered, staring at the floor as Papa released her. "I was so afraid that you wouldn't want anything to do with me, especially after finding out that I'd had a daughter... and then given her up."

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Babe," Papa murmured, pressing a kiss to Mama's hairline and opening the door.

As Mama and Janelle exited Papa's office, I scrambled over to Tank's office door and inched it open so I could watch them walk past through the small crack. When they reached the end of the hall I poked my head out to make sure they kept on toward the elevator before dashing the few feet in the opposite direction and entering Papa's office. He was behind his desk once more, staring at something he held in hands. When I approached he looked up at me with a smile that quickly faded as he took in my appearance. I could only guess at how bad it was. My already messy hair was probably a complete rat's nest from me running my hands through and pulling at it as I'd waited impatiently for Lester to fix his bungle. My eyes were probably puffy as well, from my stupid crying fit.

"You've been crying," he said, stating the obvious.

"Seeing you and Mama together got to me," I said, shrugging, not wanting to tell him the real reason for my tears. He had enough to deal with without me adding to the load unnecessarily. I came to stand beside his chair and looked down at what he'd been staring at. It was a picture of Mama and baby me.

He saw I was looking and handed to me to have a close look. Mama had dark circles under her eyes and looked barely with it, but I was the picture of health, staring up at the camera with big round eyes and a serious expression that looked out of place on a one year old. "Grandpa took that photo the day he brought Mama home from the hospital," Papa explained. "The same day she came to see me to tell me about you and how she wanted me to look after you. That was the day she died." He gave a little bitter laugh, "At least we thought she'd died."

"Why haven't I seen this photo before?" I asked softly, handing it back to him. I'd snooped in his desk drawers about a million times over the years and never come across it.

"I keep it in a hidden compartment," he told me. "I didn't want you seeing you Mama so weak. I wanted you to see her as the strong woman she was."

"Even the strongest people are allowed to have weak moments, Papa," I said. "Nobody should be expected to be strong all the time."

* * *

_We're getting so close! Are you as excited as I am? Review and let me know what you think._


	46. She's WHOSE Daughter?

_I can't tell you how relieved I am to have this chapter finished. It gave me quite a bit of hell in places and I had to resort to typing with a guitar in my lap because playing it helped me think straight. I don't think the situation was aided by the fact that I have had an extremely short attention span for the last twelve hours. But it's here now, so I'll stop moaning and let you get to reading it._

**Chapter 46**

A small gasp came from the doorway to Papa's office. I jumped at the sound, not recognising it as one of the Lost Boys. It was definitely more feminine, but I didn't think it was Ella either. I tried to gauge who it was by Papa's expression, but it was blank as he stared toward the door. Slowly, I turned around, dreading what I would see when I did. Hopefully, it would simply be one of the new recruits with a higher than average voice who hadn't realised Papa was my Papa. Even as I thought it, I realised how stupid that was as a possibility. I scrunched my eyes shut, only opening them when I was fully turned around.

"M-," I had to quickly bite my tongue to keep myself from calling her Mama. If it was okay for me to call her Mama now, Papa would have told her about how he'd raised me and I knew who she was and all those other details that he hadn't even mentioned during the meeting. Unless that happened while I was bereft of security footage... right after she asked about a girl... I travelled my gaze over to the bookshelf in the corner and noticed the photos of me there, then quickly cast my eye to Papa, still staring blank faced at Mama. Lordy, what was I supposed to do here? "Michelle," I finally managed to spit out into the awkward silence. "I thought you'd left already?"

Blinking in confusion, she turned to look at me with a frown, "I dropped my phone," she said slowly. "I just wanted to check if it was by the chair I was sitting in. Am I interrupting something?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Papa move and heard the desk drawer open and close and guessed he was putting the photo away. I smiled at Mama reassuringly, wondering if she'd noticed Papa's actions or if she saw me and only me. She seemed to be staring at me an awful lot. I tried to summon up the powers of stare-ignorance I had perfected over my school years, but couldn't quite manage it under the penetrating blue gaze of my mother. "You're not interrupting anything," I said. "I was just talking to-."

"You called him Papa," she blurted.

"That I did," I said, trying to maintain my calm. It was very unnerving to have Mama and Papa in the same room especially since one of them knew everything and the other virtually nothing. I had to watch my p's and q's as Grandma would say. One wrong word and I could send the whole room into meltdown. "There's a really good explanation for that which I am going to let Pa-... er...Rang-... um... I'm gonna let this guy right here explain," I stumbled out, hiking my thumb to where Papa sat and starting to creep toward the door. I only made it a few steps, however, when I realised Papa was simply staring at Mama and Mama was doing nothing but stare back. "Ooorr maybe not," I sighed. Sinking into the nearest visitor's chair.

Minutes ticked by and no one said anything. They were like statues having a staring contest. A few times I thought about going to get Bobby to see if he could bring them back to life, or maybe Tank to diffuse the situation or something. The tension in the room increased and thickened until I could have cut it with a warm butter knife.

As always happens when I have a lack of stimulation, my mind began to wander. I thought about lunch, and what kind of sandwiches would be in the fridge in the break room today. I thought about Auntie Mare alone in the apartment with Bobby and Lester and wondered whether she'd offered to lick their abs yet or not – sometimes she grew a little irrational around the Lost Boys. I then thought about what Janelle was doing, since she hadn't come back with Steph. Was she waiting in the car? By the elevator? She must be waiting somewhere since they'd come together.

"Is she your daughter?" Mama finally asked. And even though she was speaking as if I wasn't there, which I absolutely detested, I wanted to tell her that I was _her_ daughter. I bit my tongue again, though. That wasn't the question she'd asked. "Is she?" she repeated when Papa remained silent.

I was starting to worry that he'd had some kind of stroke or aneurism when he finally opened his mouth and let words fall from his lips. "Yes," he uttered. Hallelujah! He speaks!

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" she asked, and I could hear the hurt in her voice now. I watched her face as it formed sad and regretful expressions. She was still speaking as if I wasn't there, but I could forgive her of that.

"There was no need," Papa said softly and I noticed his blank face was still in place. What was he feeling under there?

"I asked you about the girl in the photos," she reminded him, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"From what I understood of the situation," Papa said sternly, "This was a business meeting, so there was no reason to bring my personal life into it."

Mama sat back in her chair, rubbing her chest as she stared straight at Papa. I could tell that wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. I know I probably wouldn't have liked it either if I was in her place. Here was the man who had accepted her for who she was when everyone else wanted to change her, telling her that there was no reason for him to share his personal life with her. Heck, the way Papa said it had me, pushing back the waterworks, and I was fairly certain he didn't mean it. I could only imagine how Mama was feeling right now.

"What if this was a social visit?" she asked, averting her eyes to the table between them. "Would you tell me about your personal life since I left if this was a social visit?"

I couldn't take it anymore. It was grating on my nerves now. "I'm right here," I said, not bothering to hide my exasperation. "Could you not talk about me as if I wasn't?"

"Sorry, cosita," Papa murmured, using the pet name he hadn't called me in years.

"Yes, sorry, Anne," Mama agreed. "I didn't realise what I was doing."

"It's okay," I said quickly, when she turned to look at me.

Papa's desk phone rang then, drawing all our attention. He picked up the handset and checked the number with slight sigh. "Of course I would love to tell you about my personal life," he said. "However, I must take this call. If you could both excuse me."

"I could tell her," I offered. This was the perfect opportunity to bond with my mother. "We could talk over lunch?"

Papa regarded me for a moment and I gave him my covert pleading eyes. "All right," he finally said, adding. "But you know the rules." I nodded and lead Mama out of the room as Papa answered the call.

As we reached the door that lead to Tank's office I paused. "You were with Jan, weren't you?" I asked. "Is she still waiting for you?"

Mama's eye widened. "You're right. She is. I'll just go let her know that she can go to the mall or something and I get her to pick me up later." And she dashed off down the hall leaving me standing in Tanks doorway listening to one side of a telephone conversation.

"Yes," he said, "I understand you have strict privacy policies. But I think you should understand that I work for Rangeman." Pause. "Yes, that's right, ma'am. The security specialists. So as you can probably imagine, this is a matter of security for one of our clients." Another pause. "I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am. But if you could check your records for any... donations from a Ricardo or Carlos Manoso about twenty-three years ago, it would be a great help to our investigation." A moment of silence. "Of course, I'll hold." He then glanced up and noticed me watching him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, stepping a little further into the room.

He quickly slid the memo pad into the pocket of his cargo pants. "Nothing," he said innocently, which I knew meant that he was anything but innocent. "Just checking on some things."

"What kind of donations did Papa give over twenty years ago?" I asked.

"I'm not at liberty to say," he informed me. "Why don't you go over to the break room and grab yourself some lunch, Carter should be in there about this time."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him. "I'm having lunch with Mama," I said. "What would Papa say if I asked him about any donations he gave back then?" I asked, adding a menacing flare to my tone as I reached the door once more.

He sighed and gave me a half smile. "Threaten all you like, Gen. I'm not going to tell you. And if you ask your Papa I'll never supply you with another doughnut ever again." He had me there. He was my biggest supplier, even managing to bring them to me when Papa had put my on a ban.

I pouted at him and crossed my arms over my chest. "This isn't over," I told him.

"Of course not," he murmured.

Steph's POV

"So where do you want to start?" Anne asked as we sat at the table in the break room. She'd insisted I had to try Ella's turkey sandwich, informing me that it was to die for even though it was healthy. As she'd grabbed two sandwiches and a couple of drinks from the fridge I had surveyed the room for changes, finding only one: the television had been updated to a flat screen.

"I don't know," I confessed. She'd chattered non-stop since meeting me at the elevator five minutes ago, and I'd figured she would just ramble on about life with Ranger, but she'd stopped and looked at me awkwardly a bit like a lost child more than an enthusiastic teenager. I felt I should say something to ease the situation, but I couldn't for the life of me think of a single thing that didn't sound tacky. "This is awkward for you, isn't it?" I asked eventually.

Without looking up from her sandwich she whispered a small, "Yes."

I chuckled despite her answer and said, "Well, if it helps, it's awkward for me too." To fill the silence that followed that statement I took a bite of my sandwich and almost moaned as my tastebuds seemed to zing back to life. I had been way too long without Ella's cooking. Reluctant to swallow such a treat and have the flavour experience end, I was still chewing when I murmured, "Oh wow. That's better than I remember it."

She looked up at me then, with a small smile. "You've had Ella's cooking before?" she asked, and some of the timidness that had been settling over her seemed to wash away. Her bright eyes grew brighter. I could practically feel the energy oozing from her pores. Probably, she was a hyperactive terror when she was little, running all over the place and defying her parents' wishes. I could almost imagine her with a trail of Merry Men running after her, struggling to keep up. "Isn't she the greatest?" she enthused. "Ella cooks most of our meals. She used to cook all of them when I was younger though. Sometimes I'd help her. I still remember Papa coming into Ella's kitchen to find me with chocolate cake mix smeared on my face. I must have been five at the time. Papa says it took forever for him to get me to sleep that night."

That made me grin. The thought of Ranger wrestling a five year old girl into her pyjamas and telling her she needed to go to sleep as she ran around the living room of his penthouse apartment was just too funny. "How is he as a father?" I found myself asking, my natural curiosity raising its head as I continued to imagine Ranger with the little girl from the photographs. The little girl who had grown into this vibrant teenager.

"What kind of question is that?" she retorted, scrunching up her nose. "He's my Papa."

"It was a pretty stupid question," I admitted. "Feel free to ignore it. I'll think of something else to a-."

"He's the best I know," she informed me, taking a bite of her own sandwich. "He's practically put his own life on hold at times to make sure I was happy. I can't imagine my life without him." Though she smiled fondly, I noticed there was sadness in her eyes. What had happened to this girl to make her look so sad? I wondered. "Sometimes I feel guilty about how much of his time I take up," she said, staring down at her food once more. "Like when he cancels meetings and rearranges his schedule to meet with teachers and stuff. He shouldn't have to."

This confused me. Surely, that's what a parent did. They do whatever it takes to ensure their child's wellbeing. "Why does it make you feel guilty?" I asked her. Don't ask me why I said it. I just did. It was out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about it.

Anne shrugged. "I dunno. It just does." She fiddled with the label on her juice bottle, picking at the edge. "It's not like he went out and decided, 'Hey, I'm gonna have a kid.' I just kind of..." There was a bit of pause during which I was afraid to even blink. She sighed and set her juice aside, raising her head to once again make eye contact. "I pretty much just landed in his lap."

"What about your mother?" It was the question I'd been wanting to ask ever since we sat down, but I didn't think I should start with _Tell me about your mother_. I didn't want to sound like some jealous ex-girlfriend. I had to wait for the right moment. This seemed as good a time as any.

Just like that, she was back to staring at the table. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, not that I was surprised. This was Ranger's daughter. Chances were she'd inherited his gift for blanking his face of emotions.

The silence continued to stretch between us and I began to get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't tell whether it was my nerves returning at the face of finding out about the woman Ranger had been with after I left his life, my stomach bug flaring up again, or the turkey sandwich causing a riot, but I didn't like the feeling. I pushed the sandwich away just a nudge as the nausea roiled and I had to look down at my lap and take a few deep breaths.

"I never got to know her," Anne said softly, sounding like she was fighting tears. "She died when I was little." I listened hard to what she was saying, hoping if I distracted myself I wouldn't feel so sick. "I'm not exactly sure what she was really like, since everyone has a different story to tell about her. They kind of make her sound like a superhero at times. The only thing they seem to agree on is that she was really awesome."

I gulped back the lump forming in my throat and blinked hard at the tears welling in my eyes. "I'm so sorry," I told her solemnly, and not only was I apologising for the fact that she hadn't had the chance to know her mother, I was apologising to my dear little Maggie, where ever she was, because she'd been put through the same thing. I just hoped that she'd had someone as wonderful as Ranger and Ella and all his men to care for her. Looking up into her sad eyes, I felt a new jolt of nausea mingled with something else I couldn't name. I tried to tell her I was sorry again, but all that came out was a gurgle as the half of the sandwich I'd eaten threatened to make a reappearance.

"Oh gosh," I heard her exclaim. "You're still sick! I should get one of the Lost Boys to take you home... well, back to your hotel. I'll just -."

"Call Jan," I told her, clutching my stomach. "She'll be worried. Let her pick me up."

"Are you sure? I'm sure Papa won't mind getting a Lost Boy to take you home."

"Please."

Janelle's POV

It didn't take much to convince Steph to take a nap once we got to the hotel. Despite having been in pain and on the verge of vomiting when I picked her up, she'd yawned most of journey and practically sleep walked into the entrance hall of our room. I helped her kick off her boots in the living room and she curled up on the couch, her eyes closing and breathing evening out even as she informed me that she was only going to rest her eyes for a moment. No sooner was she asleep than Diesel popped in. Literally, as per usual. One minute it was just Steph on the couch and me making myself a cup of tea, the next I was hauled into Diesel's firm embrace and his lips were seeking mine. I kissed him back, enjoying the feel of his body against mine until the kettle started to boil with a god-awful racket. I quickly turned from him to shut it off and finish making my tea, but that didn't deter him. He trailed kisses along the nape of my neck and moved my sweater aside to show some affection there as well.

I sighed and slipped out of reach, taking my drink with me. "She's getting close," I said, climbing up onto a kitchen stool. "I thought she was going to recognise Magenta today."

"She seen her?" Diesel asked, sliding effortlessly into the stool beside me and stealing a sip of my tea. He then did his usual grimace because I 'made my tea too weak'. By which he really means is that it's not coffee. "Ugh. That's terrible," he said, pushing it back toward me with a twinkle in his eye. "So Magenta?"

"She seems to spend a lot of time in the lobby," I mentioned casually. "She was there yesterday and today." I wasn't sure if I should tell him about the two of them having lunch together unsupervised. Probably, that wouldn't go down well.

He nodded thoughtfully, moving over to the kettle and making himself a coffee. "But Steph didn't recognise her?" he asked, keeping his back to me so I had no way of telling where his mind was. There was another moment of uncharacteristic silence before he asked, "What about Magenta? Did she seem to know who Steph was?"

Absently scratching my head, I remembered that I still had my wig on and quickly shed it, laying it on the table next to my tea cup. "I don't think so," I said, not entirely sure of my answer, but not wanting to say that it was entirely possible that Magenta had recognised Stephanie for her mother. I pulled pins from my hair and laid them on the counter in a neat little row, buying myself some time by making sure the gaps between them were identical. "There's no way of knowing if either of them did or did not recognise the other without asking them."

"Well _did _you ask either of them?" Diesel asked. He was almost exasperated, but I don't think he really meant it. Turning around he leaned his forearms against the counter from the other side, holding his coffee mug between both hands as he regarded me. "We really need to know," he said.

"What good is knowing if they recognise each other going to do?" I asked him and wasn't surprised when the goofy grin I'd fallen in love with broke free on his face.

Running a lazy hand through his already mussed up hair, he said lightly, "I'm just really curious."

"How did Magenta take the news of her mother being alive?" I asked, with more than a little of my own curiosity.

At that moment, Steph mumbled in her sleep as she rolled over and we both cut our eyes to her curled form, wondering if she was only pretending to be asleep. If she'd heard any of our conversation she didn't say anything – possibly because she was, in fact, asleep – and after a moment her mumblings continued. I slid off my stool and crossed to the couch to see if I could understand anything of what she was saying, but it was just nonsense. I pulled the blanket off the back of the lounge and draped it over her while Diesel settled into a nearby armchair with the television remote. I noticed he'd carried both our beverages over and placed them on the side table next to the chair, so I went to settle on his lap for some long overdue snuggle time.

No sooner had I gotten comfortable than Steph began to thrash about on the couch. Her arms were working overtime, windmilling all over the place as her legs kicked the blanket clear across the room. Then came the screaming. She screamed at the top of her lungs for a minute or so before falling quiet. She whimpered like she was in pain, her hands grasping at thin air as she squirmed.

"Ah," she cried out. "Oh. God!" With each word she grew louder until she was screaming unintelligibly once more.

"Maybe you should call Dave," I suggested to Diesel, not taking my eyes off Steph. She was now calling Magenta's name over and over.

"I'm not sure there's anything Dave can do for her," he said. "She's just gotta ride it out."

At that exact moment, she sat bolt upright, her head spinning to look at the pair of us. I was having flashbacks to the time I let her talk me into watching The Exocist with her when she practically screamed, "I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" _Yikes._

* * *

_I know, I know. Another cliffie. I just couldn't help it. There was no other way to end this chapter. Don't forget to review._


	47. Blowing off Steam

_Here it is. The latest chapter in this incredibly long, yet gratifying-to-write story. That's pretty much all I have to say on matters. Better hop to it._

**Chapter 47**

I helped Mama down to the lobby and waited with her until Janelle arrived to take her home and then slowly made my way back up to the control room. As I climbed the seventy or so steps I allowed all the thoughts I had been suppressing during the wait to wash over me, infusing my mind with worries and doubts as much as hope and happiness. I was starting to think that there was more to this stomach bug thing that she claimed to have than she was letting on. Immediately, I jumped to the worst case scenario. What if Mama was dying? I don't think I could stand to lose her at this point. Not even if it was another fake death. As I reached the final flight of stairs I tried to push all my bad thoughts aside and focus on the fact that soon Mama would know who I am and we could be together. I could get to know my mother for the first time in my life and Mama could see how well I've grown up.

As I opened the door to the control room, Gazz walked past with a stack of papers, probably on his way to his weekly meeting with Tank to discuss office performance and possibilities to improve. In other words, he was on his way to bore Tank to tears. He screwed his nose up at me when he noticed me and I sent back my innocent smile, moving to the epicentre of control room.

"Is he gone?" Cal asked me. "Is the door closed?"

At first I was confused merely for the fact that he was talking and sounding interested. Then I realised that, yes, this was actually happening but was confused as to what he was talking about. It took me a moment more to realise that he was probably talking about Gazz. Before answering, I leaned back so I could see down the hall and be sure. "Yep," I said. "Gazz is out of sight and the door is closed." I settled myself on the corner of his desk, careful to make sure I didn't obscure his view of the screens he was supposed to be watching. To my surprise though, he nudged his neighbour with his forearm and moved to the file cabinet behind him while the guy pulled out his cell phone. "So what's going on?" I asked.

"If you wanna talk," he said, reaching into the back of the drawer. "Take this and follow me."

I think there is a law somewhere that says that I absolutely _must_ do what my curiosity says I must, so it was no surprise that I found myself taking the video camera and following Cal to Gazz's office. When we arrived Hal, Vasto and two other Lost Boys were already there, surveying the office.

"How much time do we have?" Vasto asked. He what you might call enormous. Tank is big, but this guy puts even him to shame. He had to have his Rangeman uniform custom made just so it would fit him. I took in the way he tested the weight of the desk with all its items still on and in it and shrank back against the wall a little, just in case he got any bright ideas like spinning the desk on one hand above his head while I clung to the top of it.

"My guess is an hour for the meeting alone," Hal said, checking computer cables and other such things. "You asked Tank to distract him a little longer just in case, right?" he added, turning to Cal.

"Yeah. He's gonna take him down to the gun range until we give him the signal. Gazz is ridiculously behind in his range hours." Cal then grabbed an empty storage container from the hall and dragged it over to the desk. Pointing at me, he practically ordered, "Turn on the camera and I'll answer your questions. Just make sure you get what we're doing."

Still slightly confused, I got the camera working and nodded to Cal. He immediately began shoving things into the box. I panned the office and realised that Vasto, Hal and the others were doing similar tasks with their own storage boxes. Hal was carefully unplugging the computer and setting the monitor and tower in a box along with all its cables and other accessories. Vasto was grabbing things off the shelves behind the desk. Frog had emptied one drawer of the file cabinet and was working on the second with an almost full box next to him.

"What's going on here?" I asked as the guys silently worked.

"We're pulling the mother of all pranks on Gazz," Hal informed me, making sure to speak loud enough that the camera would catch his words.

A smile quirked at the corners of my mouth as I processed this information. This was just the distraction I needed from my increasingly sombre thoughts. I panned the office again, focusing in on Trent as he grabbed Frog's full box and replaced it with an empty one. As Frog set to work on the second set of file drawers, I followed Trent's journey out into the hall where he dumped the box and made eye contact with Carter, who was stationed at an open access computer closest to the hall.

"So you're taking away all of Gazz's stuff?" I asked Trent as he made his way back into the office. "What kind of a lame-ass prank is that?"

He grabbed another box that had been filled and cast aside and started out to the hall again, but faced the camera as he went. "We're not just taking away his stuff, sweet cheeks," he said setting the second box on top of the first. "We're replacing it all."

I waited, thinking he might continue his explanation without prompting, but as I followed him back inside once more, I realised how stupid an idea that was. "Well?" I asked. "What are you replacing it with?"

Hal stood from the last file cabinet and faced me, a huge grin lighting his features. "Cardboard and papier mache replicas," he said proudly.

"The night shift has been working on it all for the past week," Vasto chipped in, startling me with how deep his voice was. I think it was only the second time I'd ever heard him speak.

"I think that's everything," Cal said, looking around the room. "All the small stuff out of the way. Let's get to work on the furniture."

While Trent moved all the boxes from the hall directly outside Gazz's office over to the elevator, propping the doors open with one of the boxes so they could get everything else inside, Frog grabbed up the two visitors chairs and carted them out. I outside the office next to Gazz's where I had a clear view all the way to the elevator if I stood on tip toes. Cal and Vasto carried the desk out and Hal trailed behind them with what I assumed was the shelves from the wall in one hand while wheeling the big leather office chair with the other.

"Where are you taking all the stuff?" I asked, following behind the convoy to the elevator, camera still in hand. Everything was loaded in with just enough space left for small person beside the control panel.

"We found an empty corner in the basement we're gonna shove it all into," Trent said. He then grabbed me by the elbow and steered me into the small space, hitting a button on the panel before retracting his hand. "Send 'em up," he told me as the doors closed.

Unable to do much else on the slow journey down, I focused the camera and pulled out my cell phone. _R U aware of wat da Lost Boys R doing?_I texted to Papa, hitting send just as the door dinged open.

There was a flurry of movement before I could even get out. Half the furniture was out of the elevator when I remembered the camera in my hand. Stepping quickly out of the way as Tio Eloy dragged the boxes past, I raised the lens and focused on the men at work. After barely a minute, the elevator was filling up again, this time with a different set of boxes, some large sheets of cardboard, and some very convincing looking items. Finally, three guys squeezed in next to me and hit the button for the command centre.

"How long did it take to make that computer monitor?" I asked, pointing the camera at the nearest Lost Boy. "It looks just like the one they just took out of his office."

"Couple of hours?" he said with a thick Russian accent and a shrug. "In my home country I make these everyday as decoy." I had a feeling that was more information that I needed to know, but it was still impressive.

My phone buzzed with a text then and I handed him the camera, telling him to get a close up of the monitor. _I approved the operation weeks ago_.

The doors dinged open again Russian Lost Boy shoved the camera back into my hand so that he could help take things out. I followed and diligently recorded their actions as they began to set up the fake furniture and other office paraphernalia. Twenty minutes of silent work later and the office looked exactly the same as it had before they started taking stuff out. I was stunned. They'd even gone so far as to implant LED lights so that the tell-tale lights on the computer and phone didn't give it away at first glance. The cardboard file cabinets _actually worked_ and were filled with bogus files. There were papier mache pens in the pen holder. A cardboard and papier mache plant in the corner. The waste paper basket even had fake bits of rubbish in it. It was ridiculously realistic.

I was panning over the awesome job they'd done and marvelling over how a bunch of meat heads could have accomplished such a feat when Lester and Bobby walked in and set a box in the middle of the floor.

"And now," Lester said, facing the camera squarely and throwing his arms out in a grand gesture. "The pièce de résistance!" Reaching into the box he flourished what looked to be a cube. On closer inspection, I realised it was a stack of Post-It notes. "Everyone pitch in," he said. "There's plenty of surface area to go around"

"Keep count of how many stacks you use," Bobby added, "It'll be handy to know for next time."

"We could just get Carter to approximate," I suggested. "He'd be pretty much accurate."

Steph's POV

"Give me the keys," I demanded of Janelle as I shoved my feet into my boots. I'd already explained to her and Diesel what my outburst was about and I was preparing to resolve matters, even if I had to shoot someone to do so. At first she and Diesel tried to calm me down, telling me it was just a bad dream. That had wasted valuable minutes of anger time. By the time they'd switched tactics to distracting me – suggesting I might like to have a relaxing bath before going off to storm the castle, or perhaps eat a doughnut or two – my anger had simmered down to a mere annoyance directed more at them for causing my delay. Now they were delaying me once again as Janelle refused to give me the keys.

"I don't think you should be driving like this," she said, biting her lip nervously.

"For Christ sake, Janelle," I sighed. "It's not like I'm drunk! It's called anger. I've driven angry on countless occasions. I used to make a living out of driving angry." _Well, not so much driving while angry but driving others to be angry_. "Just give me the keys or I'll go hail a cab."

Still biting her lip, she shifted her gaze between me and Diesel several times before saying, "Maybe I should drive you."

I wanted to scream. "No way," I told her. "You're too polite a driver. You have two options, give me the keys and I drive myself or Diesel pops me over there." Actually, that sounded like a really good idea. It was much quicker and I didn't have to bother about finding a parking spot when I got there. He could just take me straight to Ranger's office.

"Diesel isn't popping you anywhere," Janelle said firmly. "You need to calm down. You're not going to do anyone any good if you're all worked up like this."

Ignoring her, I thought back to the training days I'd done with the Unmentionables and wondered if I'd retained enough information to muddle myself through hotwiring the rental car.

"You're not going to hotwire the car," Diesel said. _Damn, I'd said that out loud._ "Janelle, hand me the keys, I'll drive her over. I'll even escort her to Ranger's butt-whooping if it would please you." Hesitantly, Janelle reached into her front pocket and gave the keys to her husband who then sent me his dimpled grin. "Let's get ready to rumble!"

Ranger's POV

I was in the break room, grabbing a coffee after checking the authentic looking job the guys had done on their prank when my cell phone rang. "One of the ladies from earlier just stormed through the lobby and into the lift," Demon informed be as soon as I picked up. "She looked mad as hell and was muttering something about a 'lying son of a South American sea snake'." Before I could even thank him for the warning, he'd hung up. If nothing else, this confirmed that Demon wasn't exactly a people person.

Grabbing my coffee, I made my way out to the elevator just as the doors opened and Steph stepped out, immediately spearing me with the classic burg glare. Mad as hell didn't even begin to cover how she was feeling. She was in a rage. There was practically steam coming out of her nostrils. I had the sudden feeling that I'd done something terribly, terribly wrong.

"You!" she yelled, pointing a well manicured finger in my direction. "How _could _you!"

"Babe," I said, hoping to diffuse the situation. "What's-."

"Don't Babe me!" she exclaimed. "_Your daughter,_ huh? You know, you had me thinking that you'd built a fairly normal life for yourself. Settled down. Made babies. I was thinking that maybe you'd changed. Maybe you'd made someone very happy. But ya know what? It was bound to backfire on you eventually. How long did you think it was going to take before I realised just why _Anne_ looked so gosh darn familiar?" Her face was beetroot red when she paused for a breath and her eyes flashed with a menace that only just covered up the hurt.

"Why don't we go to my office so we can discuss this privately?" I suggested reaching out to take her elbow and steer her down the hall, but she shock me off. I let her shake me off.

"I don't want to discuss this privately!" she spat at me. "The whole company probably knows anyway. You had them lying to me! I bet you weren't even in back to back meetings the last few days, you were probably just trying to formulate a plan to throw me off the scent. Well guess what! I remembered something that I wish I could forget." She through her arms out to the side and laughed bitterly. "I remembered that I trusted you enough that I wanted you to look after my little girl. My pride and freaking joy. I left her with you and Morelli. I don't know why exactly. Something to do with poison probably. All I remember is that I came to you thirteen years ago and asked you to look after Maggie and now, when I asked you to help me find her, because I had no idea where she was, you claimed she was _YOURS?_ That's sick."

"I had good reason," I insisted, trying once more to lead her down the hall to my office. She refused to budge though. Just kept staring at me with all that hurt streaking across her face. I could see the tears welling in her eyes. "Please, come to my office and let's talk about this like adults."

She shook her head fiercely from side to side and wrenched her arm from my grasp once more. "I don't want to talk, Ranger," she said firmly. "I just want you to let me take my daughter back so I can leave you behind."

"I don't want to go," came Magenta's voice from somewhere behind us.

We both slowly turned to stare at her. She stood next to the bank of monitors with her messy hair falling around her shoulders and her arms crossed over her chest. She was almost an exact replica of her mother. I looked closer at her face and realised there were tears rolling down her face.

"What did you say?" I asked her, not believing my ears. The girl had been zig-zagging between wanting to meet her mother and worrying that she wouldn't be good enough ever since we found out that Steph was still alive. I had been willing to let her go if that's what they both truly wanted. Her saying she didn't want to go with her mother didn't make much sense to me.

"I said I don't want to go," Genny insisted, hugging herself a little tighter. "I'm almost fifteen now, you can't force me to go with her."

"No one's forcing you to do anything," I soothed. "I'm sure once we talk all this out-."

"She knew who I was the entire time?" Steph exclaimed at me. "You really are a sick and twisted man! I can't believe you did that! And now you're going to keep my only child from me?"

I levelled an emotionless stare at her. "You're only child is old enough to make her own decisions," I informed her. "She doesn't want to go with you at the moment, and frankly, I can't say I blame her. You're acting like you've just escaped a mental asylum."

"Papa," Genny murmured. "Please, don't make things worse."

A long silence seeped through the room as I stared at Steph's face. She was no longer glaring at me, but looking with dismay to where Genny was standing, tears running steadily down her cheeks now as her breathing became ragged. If this kept up she'd be hyperventilating soon. I had to find a way to get Steph out of the way so I could ensure Genny was alright. It was probably cruel, but I'd made a promise to Steph to ensure Magenta's well being when I agreed to take her in, and if that mean tying Steph to a chair and putting duct tape over her mouth while I calmed Gen down, then I'd do it.

I was just assessing my best options for getting her out of the way when a shout carried across the command centre. I scanned the far side of the area, trying to figure out where it came from as half the men in the room cheered. It didn't take long to see where the disturbance had come from, Tank and Gazz had just returned from the gun range and Gazz obviously didn't like the decorating job the guys had done in his absence.

"What the hell is going on here?" Tank asked, coming to stand mid way between Steph and I and Gen. He looked from Steph's irate stature, to her daughter standing in the middle of the control room like a lost child in a supermarket and immediately seemed to deduce what was 'going on.' "Ahh, hell," he muttered, moving swiftly to Gen's side as she continued to breathe in small gasps. He picked her up, setting her on his hip like she was no more than three years old and carried her to the break room. I took the opportunity to haul Steph down the hall and into my office.

* * *

_So? What do you think? Is it what you expected? Good? Bad? Let me know._


	48. The Calm After the Storm

_Today begins 2011. Now, I actually thought I uploaded this last night, but aparrently my brain was on other things and I forgot that vital step where I actually upload the chapter to the story. My apologies. I shall make sure I do it now..._

**Chapter 48**

Steph's POV

I'd forgotten how much Ranger seemed to enjoy sitting very silent and very still. When he dragged me back into his office he'd forced me into one of the guest chair and perched on the edge of his desk a few feet away, staring at me with his unreadable expression firmly in place and his arms crossed over his broad, sculpted chest. Just looking at it brought back about a million memories of staring at it. Usually in a shirt, but sometimes devoid of the obscuring material. I recalled the feel of it under my hands when he had pulled me against him back then and wondered if it would still be as hard. After a few minutes of staring at him, letting my mind wander as he stayed statue still, I began to wonder why I was sitting here. There was a reason he was staring at me the way he was, but I couldn't quite remember what that reason was. Faced anew with his yummy body, I couldn't think straight.

"Are we going to talk or are you going to sit there and drool?" Ranger asked. Speaking a full sentence, I realised. Had he always spoken full sentences? It seemed to be out of character in my mind. I remembered him as a silent presence, occasionally giving short commands, but now that I thought about it, he'd been fairly articulate earlier today when I'd sat in this same chair with Janelle by my side, asking him to help me find my daughter.

That was it!

"I want my daughter," I said simply. I had to force my fascination with his chest to the back of my mind. So long as I didn't look at him below the neck, I should be able to get through this without embarrassing myself by drooling.

He stared at me silently for a little while longer. Probably probing inside my head in that way he has, and trying to decided the best course of action. As the silence dragged on again, I found myself adding a monologue to his stare. _Should I send her to a third world country? Or is it more humane to just shut her down here and now? Which is more likely to let me keep Magenta for myself?_

"Babe," he murmured and I noticed the tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth_. Crap, did I say that out loud?_ "Yes," he said simply. "Now talk to me. What's going on?"

I rolled my eyes. I would have thought it was quite obvious what was going on. He was lying to me about my own daughter. Keeping her from me. "Please tell me you're kidding!" I practically exclaimed. "Did you not hear a single thing I said out there? I want my freaking daughter. I want you out of her life! She knew who I was the entire time, didn't she? You told her all about her mother, so that she recognised me the minute I stepped into that lobby. But you've warned her against me, like some vicious animal at the zoo. _Oh, don't get to close to the tiger cage, Maggie, she'll bite your hand clean off if you give her the opportunity. _What lies have you told her?"

I was breathing heavy, now. Glaring at him. Willing him to answer. To tell me what a horrible person I was for leaving Maggie behind. I needed him to tell me I was a terrible mother. I needed him to confirm my suspicions that I didn't deserve to have my daughter back. I'd left her behind for thirteen years, what good could I possibly do her now? I waited for him to tell me all this and more, but all he did was sigh and shake his head.

"She goes by Gen these days," he said.

_What?_ That's all he had to say on the matter? She'd chosen a different nickname. That's it. That's his entire comment on everything I said. "What does it matter what she's called?" I asked, irritated. "A name is a name. She could have changed her name to Billy Jean, but it wouldn't change the fact that she's my daughter and you're a lying bastard."

His eyes met mine and held for a short moment. "I haven't lied to anyone."

"Bullshit," I spat and briefly wondered if getting angry at Ranger was a wise choice of action. "Earlier you stated plain as day that she was your daughter. Which we both know she's not. She's _MY _daughter. I gave birth to her. She has my DNA!"

"I'm her father, just as Morelli is her father," he stated simply. "We raised her for thirteen years like she was our own. Just like you asked us to do. We were the ones comforting her when she had nightmares. When she was afraid of the bogey monster. When she fell from the monkey bars and hurt her arm. When she fell over and scraped her knee. We took her to school on her first day. We held her when she clung to our legs because she didn't want us to leave her there. We encouraged her to make new friends. We were there for her when the other kids in her class teased her for having two fathers. It was Morelli and me who sat through every single parent-teacher interview. Every councellor meeting. Heck, my employees help her with her homework when she needs it. They all love and adore her and know what she's like. Can you tell me one thing about your own daughter?"

Well, gosh, he may as well have added, _baBOOM! You've been OWNED, bitch!_ to the end of that rant.

I thought hurriedly back through the short conversations I'd had with Magenta before I'd realised who she really was, looking for any little piece of information I could use here. "She eats a lot of sweets," I finally mentioned, grasping at the short interchange I'd overheard between Magenta and the Merry Man working the front desk. "And she's on an elevator ban."

He almost smiled. "Most teenage girls eat a lot of sweets. Besides, with a mother like you, it's hard to think of a reason she wouldn't eat sweets. I seem to remember you liking your cake a bit more than the average person." In the blink of an eye, amused Ranger was gone and replaced by serious Ranger. I imagined him mentally narrowing his eyes at me as he posed his next challenge. "Why is she on an elevator ban?" he asked, knowing full and well that I couldn't possibly answer that.

Pursing my lips, I crossed my arms under my breasts and waited for his next piece of proof that I didn't know my daughter at all. Instead, he shocked me once again by softening his expression.

"I'm not saying you're not her mother," he said gently. "Nor that you shouldn't be allowed the opportunity to get to know her. I'm trying to tell you that Gen has an entire life here that we've built for her in your absence, and in some cases, she's built for herself. She shouldn't have to give up all of that because you want her back."

"She wouldn't have to give up the life that she has," I said, shocked that he would think I'd do such a thing. "She could still keep in touch with her friends. And I'd make sure to come back and visit so that she could spend time with the Merry Men and her grandparents."

"Which set," he asked flatly, confusing the hell out of me.

"She only has one set of grandparents," I told him. "My mom and dad."

He leaned back a bit, regarding me critically. I felt like I was on show. "Wrong," he said. "She has three sets of grandparents. All of whom treat her as their own. She had her Abuela and Abuelo Manoso. And her Nan and Nanna Bella Morelli. As well as her Grandma, and Grandpa Plum and Great Grandma Mazur." He paused a moment, letting that sink in. "Why would Morelli and I agree to take Magenta and make her our family but not include her in our own families?"

This wrenched a sigh from somewhere within me. He was right. I was being stupid and juvenile. "You're right," I murmured. "I have no right to Magenta after all this time."

"No right?" he almost yelled at me. "Weren't you listening? Of course you have a right to her! I'm just saying you have to remember that she's not a baby you can uproot without a problem. She's a package deal. She has family. She has friends. She has a life that she'd probably not going to want to leave behind." He leaned forward again so that his face was close to mine. "You can be in her life. And in time, you can be a big part of her life again. But in the meantime, she needs something to stay the same. Her entire world has been tipped upside down in the past few days. She needs constants."

I avoided eye contact like a coward, opting to gaze down at my shaking hands as my fingers interlocked and then untangled themselves over and over. "What if she doesn't want me in her life?" I whispered, finally letting my fears out in the open. "I wouldn't blame her. I mean, I dumped her years ago and now I just turn up out of the blue." I cringed, thinking about the scene I'd just caused out in the control room for everyone to see. "I haven't exactly made the best first impression."

"Trust me, Steph," he said, "She wants you in her life. She wants to get to know you. But she's just a kid. She's afraid you won't like her. Or that you'll want her to change." After a moment he added almost so softly I didn't catch it, "She's been so excited to learn everything about you the past week. But the night we learned you were still alive, she had a nightmare that you..." he trailed off when I raised my eyes to look at him once more, shaking his head. "I'll go see if she's calmed down enough to come and meet you properly."

Ranger's POV

As it turned out I didn't have to go far from my door to find Magenta. She and Tank were already half way across the control room headed in my direction when I reached the end of the hall. Her cheeks were red and her eyes puffy from the tears she had shed. In one hand she held a wad of tissues. In the other was a half full bottle of juice. She leaned into Tanks side as he said something and I saw a small smile flit across her face. It was obvious that she was feeling better than she had when I last saw her.

She gave me a small smile played at her lips as she approached me. Tank murmured something else and pushed her toward me and the moment she was within reach, I pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms tightly around my waist and I wound my one of her curls around my finger. "Are you ready to meet Mama?" I asked her softly.

"I still don't want to go with her," she said firmly, looking up at me with her chin resting on my chest. "But I'd like to get to know her. She's my mother. I'd feel guilty if I turned her away."

"That's my girl," I smiled, turning her to lead her back down the hall. "We'll take this at your pace. If you're not comfortable, we'll slow things down."

I opened the door to reveal Steph standing in the middle of my office, looking a little lost and panicky. Gen immediately grasped my hand in a death grip. I squeezed back reassuringly and urged her over to the middle of the room so that she stood a couple of feet in front of her mother. Gen stepped a little closer to me as if seeking protection and I draped my hand over her shoulder, giving a light squeeze there now, to give her the added comfort she seemed to need.

They stared at each other silently, oblivious of everything around them, including me. Steph's eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. She reached up to swipe them away more than once during their staring session. When I heard Gen sniff and watched her lower her head to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her t-shirt, I decided it was time.

"Magenta, meet your mother, Stephanie Michelle Plum." I let that sink in a moment before looking to Steph. "And this is your daughter, Magenta Anne Plum."

Steph held out her hand for a shake and Magenta almost took it, shrinking away at the last moment. I removed my hands from her and stepped away, feeling a slight resistance as I did so and she leaned to follow my shift, but then she looked down at the ground. "Do you mind if I hug you?" she asked in a very small voice. Unbeknownst to Magenta, her mother sent me a panicked questioning look, waiting for my nod before she gathered Magenta in her arms and held on tight.

At that moment there was a soft knock on the door. I turned to find Carter standing there, looking out of breath, with an excited glint in his eyes. "Sorry to interrupt," he puffed. "I need to talk to you privately. It's vitally important"

Genny's POV

One moment I was hugging my mother for the first time ever, trying to not get overly emotional again. I'd shed enough tears today that I didn't think I could cry again for another year, but that theory was shot up the butt as soon as Mama looked at me like I was the most precious treasure in the world. The next moment, Papa was leading us out into the control room and leaving us there. By the time I'd managed to turn around to see where he was going, he'd already made it half way back to his office.

"Papa!" I called at his back, a bit annoyed that he'd pretty much just dumped us out without warning. I think I was still tangled in Mama's arms when we'd made it to the end of the hall, that's how abrupt it was.

"I'll be with you as soon as I can," he said. "Why don't you show your Mama around the building in the meantime?"

"How much has really changed that she needs the grand tour all over again?" I retorted. "Besides, it'd take forever 'cause I'm not allowed in the elevator."

Papa turned to look at me when he reached his door. "You were in the elevator this afternoon if my sources are correct," he said. "But I see your point. Go show her your room or something. I'm sure you can find something to do to kill the time." And before I could so much as draw a breath into my lungs to make another comment, he'd shut his door.

"I'd love to see your room," Mama murmured softly, making eye contact with me as I fought not to roll my own.

* * *

_Happy New Year! Why not start 2011 off right by sending in a review? =P_


	49. Stuck in the Middle with You

_So this appears as my second update for the day if you're going by Australian Eastern Standard Times. But I'm sure you all don't mind. Happy reading._

**Chapter 49**

I didn't show Mama my room. I didn't want to risk being alone with her just yet. Instead, I led her to the break room to show her the footage I'd taken earlier that day of the prank the Lost Boys had pulled on Gazz. I'd made sure that there were at least two other guys in the room before making my final decision, and was careful to seat myself in one of the arm chairs, rather than on the couch where she could sit right next to me. It was one thing to allow her back into my life despite the completely scary scene she had pulled in the control room. Letting her be physically close to me, where she could wield her affection for me so easily and possibly brain wash me into thinking I wanted to go with her after all? That was something completely different. So I decided to keep some distance between us, at least for now.

We were sitting in awkward silence, the footage having finished a few moments ago, when Tank came in and asked us to go with him. He led us down the stairs to Bobby's infirmary where Bobby was waiting with two trays filled with the kinds of equipment that always make me nervous. You know the shiny kind? There were two syringes and swabs on each tray. The second I laid eyes on them I tried to back out of the room, shaking my head in an effort to mentally deny what I was seeing.

"No," I told them. "Nope. Not gonna happen. If I needed a needle jammed into my flesh I would be in the hospital. I won't let you do this. Nope. Not at all. I'm gonna go hide someplace out of the way until you get over whatever is running through your minds right now. I don't need things piercing my flesh at the moment." Having reached the outer door once more, I turned, intending to run all the way down the stairs until I reached my fort, but one large hand on my shoulder put a stop to all that. I hunched my shoulders and trudged back to the room where Bobby was already swabbing Mama's arm. "You have no idea what he can do with one needle," I told her, sullenly allowing Tank to lift me onto the second bench bed thing. "I've seen what he does to some of the crims they parade through the interrogation rooms. It's not pretty."

Tank cut his eyes to me, giving me a stern look as he rolled my sleeve up to my shoulder. "You're not supposed to know what happens in the interrogation rooms," he told me with a quirk of his brow.

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. "I'm not supposed to know that you snuck McDonalds into the building while Papa was away two years ago, either. But I know."

"Promise me you'll stop snooping in that area of the business," he requested, a stern edge to his voice as he gently cleaned my upper arm with the swab from the second tray.

"Promise me that neither of those needles are going to put me to sleep," I countered. "Or give me seizures. Or make my eyes roll back in my head while I scream in agony."

"You do that kind of thing to people?" I heard Mama ask nervously. I looked over to see her eyeing the needle Bobby was holding with suspicion. He'd already injected her with the first.

As Bobby turned to face me, I realised the needle he held was from the second tray, and intended for me. Without thought, I started scooting over the table like surface to get away, but Tank clamped his strong hands down on my thighs, preventing me from moving. Anxious, I stared up into his eyes, almost desperate to feel the calming effect they often had on me, but there was nothing. "Please," I pleaded. "Don't do this."

"I promise that both of these needles are completely harmless," Tank said, continuing to maintain eye contact. "Pinkie promise," he added, extending he pinkie as he removed one of his hands. I hooked my own into it just as I felt the needle jab into my other arm.

For a moment nothing happened, I just glared over at Bobby as he disposed of the needle and prepared the second syringe from Mama's tray. Then it hit me. A wave of drowsiness forcing my eyes closed momentarily. As the wave receded I gathered all the strength I had and raised my eyelids once more. I cast what felt like a half-assed glare at Tank. "You'll eyed a me," I slurred, realising that my words were coming out completely mangled, but unable to help it. A massive yawn spilled from me and I swayed back. "You – you lied a me!" I tried again, mustering more of my anger through the thick soup that was my brain.

"Shh," Tank murmured, laying me down on the bed as my eye lids fluttered closed once more

When next I opened my eyes the world was vibrating. Wait. Nope. That was my head. I shut my eyes against the disconcerting image and tried to move my head away from the cold surface it was resting on. The best I could do was roll it back so that it was leaning against a soft something behind. A moan escaped me as a sudden pain jabbed at my head.

"Is that Magenta?" I heard Tank say from somewhere in front of me.

"The girl," confirmed a deep voice, vaguely familiar with its thick accent. Great. Russian Lost Boy. Can't say I was thrilled that he was involved, considering what I learned about him during the only time I'd ever spoken to him. Was that today? Or yesterday? How much time had passed.

"Gen?" Tank called back. "How you doing?"

"Where the hell are you taking me?" I managed to croak out, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. I had an odd feeling that if I opened them they would roll right out of my head in disgust. It was better to keep them shut and not see anything until that feeling passed, rather than see something for a few precious seconds but then be blind for all eternity when they left me. Silence was my only answer, so I risked losing my eyes to take in my surroundings. What I saw confirmed my suspicions. I was in the back seat of a car, probably one of Rangeman's SUVs and we were driving through darkness. The only light came from the dashboard and the headlights. Everything else that could possibly have been in sight was black.

I shifted in my seat so that I was more erect and noticed that Mama was slumped on the opposite end of the seat. It was obvious she was simply sleeping; her gentle exhales caused a light fog on the window she leaned against. The hair on her head, which had been perfectly in place every other time I'd seen it, stuck out all over the place, reminding me of the time Meli had experimented with hair gel on a school camp.

"Tank?" I called. "Where are we going?"

"Why don't you go back to sleep for a while and we'll discuss it when you're more awake," Tank suggested.

"I'm awake now," I told him defiantly. "Why don't we just skip straight to the you telling me what's going on bit?"

"We go to Disneyland," Russian Lost Boy said quietly. ". Is big amusement fun. Must rest before get there."

Mama snorted and suddenly jerked against her seatbelt. Her chesty cough filled the small space as she melted back into her seat, rubbing her chest where the seatbelt caught her. "I heard someone say Disneyland," she stated groggily. "Are we going there?"

"Da," said Russian Lost Boy. "We just make stop on way. I promise friend he come too."

I narrowed my eyes at the front seats despite knowing that my actions would be lost in the dark. "I don't trust you," I stated flatly. "Something's up."

Mama chuckled beside me. "Definitely," she drawled sluggishly. "The Merry Men don't do Disneyland. That'd be weird. They're probably just taking us to a..." Her words trickled to a stop before she finished the sentence and I watched her shadowed form curl into the back of the seat as she settled back to sleep.

I sighed and crossed my arms. "You broke a pinkie promise, Tank," I said, both annoyed at my current predicament and hurt that he would do such a thing.

"I promised you no harm from the needles," Tank explained patiently from the driver's seat. "And I kept that promise. The first one Bobby gave you was a mild sedative. The other was a," he paused for thought before finishing with a lame lie. "Vitamin supplement."

"And the lies roll on," I accused. "Where's Papa?"

"He's back at Rangeman," Tank said, sounding exasperated, like when I used to question everything he did in detail. "He's busy though. He'll be in contact with us as soon as he can."

"Then can you please tell me what's going on?" I asked, slipping into my scared little girl voice, which was only a slight exaggeration of how I was feeling. I was certainly a little freaked. Wouldn't you be if you woke up in the back of an SUV as it drove through what appeared to be the middle of nowhere? Besides which, I wasn't getting any truthful information about the situation at all. Anxiety level? Rising by the minute.

It was Russian Lost Boy who once again spoke up to answer my question. "We take you and mother to -."

"Safe house!" Mama exclaimed, abruptly sitting up as she woke and again being jerked back into her seat when the seatbelt resisted. Another cough broke forth as she looked around. I could just make out the confused expression through the gloom. Her hand came up to comb through her hair and she shook her head. "After all the times I'd dodged the bullet, he'd finally managed to make me go," she muttered.

"Is it true?" I asked Tank. "Are you taking us to a freaking safe house?"

"I'm afraid so, Genny," he said softly.

With that news, I began rummaging in my pockets for my cell phone. I was going to give Papa a piece of my mind. What right did he have to send me off to some little cabin in the woods that was barely big enough to contain a kitchen sink and a bed with two massive guys and my mother? The mother I was still unsure of. Probably, there wouldn't even be separate rooms for us all. I was probably going to have to share a room with her. I'm not sure if I trusted her enough to sleep in her presence yet. Her blow out kept running through my head every time I looked at her, despite the fact that I'd decided to forgive her and give her a second chance.

"What are you doing" Tank asked sharply.

"Looking for my cell phone," I grunted, lifting my rear from the seat to make sure I hadn't put in one of my back pockets. "Papa needs to know that this is _not_ okay."

Mama reached over and awkwardly patted my shoulder. "They've probably taken your cell phone," she informed me calmly. "As a safety precaution."

I growled out my frustrations, ending my search with an angry thump of the middle seat. "I suppose I should just get some sleep then," I seethed, shifting so that I was facing the window with my head on the back of the chair. "Wake me when it's all over and we're back home," I added before squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself to sleep.

* * *

_That's all from me for the moment. Now I'm going over to check out my bestie's story. Shreek has recently been inspired (or perhaps I persuaded her) to continue her awesome JEV story 'D Bomb', but first she is editing and re-releasing what she's already done. Y'all should head over and check it out if you haven't already. But first, don't forget to give me a review!_


	50. Whatever Happened to Forgive and Forget?

_So Gen started panicking when I told her that I had to continue writing the scenes with her and Steph in close quarters. You'll see how badly down the page. I hope she calms down soon. It must be really hard for her to want her mother so much but be so afraid of allowing her to get close._

**Chapter 50**

Steph's POV

After Magenta shrugged my hand off her shoulder and turned her back on me I drifted in and out of sleep for a while longer, finally waking up as Tank pulled the SUV into a gas station. The lights were blinding after travelling in the dark for so long, and the fact that I'd just woken up didn't help matters either. I ground sleep from my eyes and looked out the window at the complete darkness beyond the gas station, wondering how long we'd been on the road. Finally, Tank cut the engine and turned around in his seat. He looked over at me first, displaying a nice smile that almost made the situation seem normal.

"Hey," he said simply and quite frankly I felt like I would have fallen to the floor had I not been firmly strapped into my seat. My memory of the Merry Men was then staring and nodding and silently communicating, using words only when it was absolutely necessary. That Tank would choose to initiate verbal communication that could turn into an actual conversation shocked me. I held my breath, not wanting to startle him into silence. "Are you hungry?" he asked and when I again didn't answer, he added, "It's past dinner time by a couple of hours at least. We had to drive straight through because of time issues, plus you were both sleeping. If you're hungry now we can get you something to tide you over until we get to the house."

I felt like such an idiot. Sitting there in the back seat with my mouth agape, gazing at Tank like one of us didn't speak English. While I struggled to find the link between my brain and my mouth, Tank handed the other guy a card and told him to get a dozen doughnuts and some packets of potato crisps while he was inside.

A sigh sounded from the other side of the car and I looked over to Magenta. She was still curled on the seat, looking small and alone. My heart reached out for her in the way that my hands wanted to, but she'd been avoiding my touch ever since we'd left Ranger's office. I didn't want to drive her away with continual attempts at closeness she obviously didn't want, but it didn't stop me from wishing I could wrap my arms around her and make it all better.

"If Mama's just gonna sit and gape uselessly for a while longer could I go use restroom?" Magenta asked. Her voice was muffled due to the position of her face against the cushion, but her tone came through loud and clear. Dispassionate. Had I caused this with my carelessness? She had seemed so full of life when I'd met her in the lobby a few days ago. Easy to grin and laugh and make jokes. Now she was sullen at best.

"I can't leave you alone," Tank apologised.

"I wouldn't mind using the restroom as well," I said quickly. "I'll take her and you can stay with the car while Igor gets the food." I'll admit it. The main reason I offered was to show Magenta that I was sympathetic to her needs. It was all I could think of as a starter point to get back into her good graces at the moment. Tank said she's not allowed to be left alone, so I'd offer to take her to relieve herself. I felt sure she would jump at the chance, because, to me, it seemed better than the alternative of having Tank take her to the bathroom. The Merry Men could be intimidating at the best of time, let alone when you're trying to do your business.

"I'd rather Tank take me if I have to have an escort," she stated flatly, sitting up in her seat and undoing her belt. "I don't see why I would need an escort to use the bathroom, since I'm almost fifteen, but if I have to have one, I'd prefer Tank." With that, she simply got out of the car and started walking swiftly toward the gas station building.

Tank, still twisted around in his seat, gazed over his shoulder as she left, then let out a barely audible curse. "I can't leave you alone either," he said, and I assumed he was talking to me, since I was the only other soul around to hear him. "You'll have to come with. Just try to keep your distance for now. Gen can be a little impossible when she gets like this, and unfortunately, I don't think your proximity, after the scene you caused today, is helping the situation."

Great. Thanks for that, Big Man, but I think I already figured half of that out on my own. I didn't bother responding, simply slipped from the back seat and followed him to the back of the main building where the toilets were located. He was already knocking on the outer door to the ladies room when I came around the corner.

"Gen?" he called. "You in there?" He glanced at me pointedly and I stopped a few feet away. Far enough again to not be a threat, but close enough that I could hear everything that they said.

"Yes," came Magenta's muffled voice. She was obviously irritated, which to me was an improvement on the lack of care she seemed to be exhibiting when she left. "And to answer your next question: No, I have not been attacked by rogue biker zombies with vampiric tendencies."

A small smile played at his lips for a moment and he moved closer to the door. "That wasn't going to be my next question," he informed her.

"Close enough," Gen's retort filtered through the door.

"Are you alright?" Tank asked, leaning against the wall and cracking the door open an inch.

I clearly heard her groan and bang something against something else, probably her hand against a wall or something. "See?" she called. "I told you. I'm fine.

He cut his eyes to me once more, holding my gaze for a few seconds as if he were contemplating his next move regarding me. I didn't think it was me he was concerned with at the moment though. Clearly, he cared a great deal about my daughter and was worried about her current behaviour. Finally, he turned his head slightly back toward the door beside him like he could heard something that I couldn't. "Is there something you want to talk about?" he asked her gently.

It was then that Magenta burst through the door, startling me back a few extra feet and causing Tank to abruptly push off the wall. "As a matter of fact," she said, pinning him with a glare that looked decidedly moist. "there is. Where would you like me to start? With the fact that you drugged me and shoved me into the back seat of a car to take me God-knows-where for God-knows-what-reason? Or maybe the fact that Papa, who always claims to have my best interests at heart, practically lied to my face?"

Tank sighed, rubbing a hand over his bald head and leaned back against the wall again. "Gen, Ric didn't lie to you either."

"Oh really?" she shouted, throwing her arms up in the air and then letting them fall lifelessly to her sides. "Were you there in the control room when Mama went completely loco?"

That hit me hard. She thought I was crazy? I'd done more damage than I thought. How was I ever going to make this right? I took three more steps away from them both so that I stood in the shadows cast by the trees at the fence line.

"She said that she wanted me back so that she could leave Papa behind," she continued, her voice thick but angry at the same time. "Papa said that no one was forcing me to do anything. And the other day he said that if he had to he would protect me against her. But now look!"

Tank reached out to caress her cheek, but she stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. "He was telling the truth, Genny. Nobody is forcing you to become best buds with your mother and simply leave the rest of us behind. And if –."

"I'm no expert," Magenta seethed. "But drugging me and dragging me to some house in the middle of nowhere, where I'm bound to be in close quarters with my mother, feels a lot like forcing to me." She was speaking so softly that I had to strain to make out her words. I almost wished I hadn't bothered. I wasn't sure which hurt more, her words or her tone. I know her anger was currently aimed toward Ranger, but the fact that she didn't trust me at all because of one misguided exclamation... I didn't think I could handle it.

"That's not it at all," Tank said, trying to sooth her. "He wants to make sure you're both safe while he -."

"How am I supposed to feel safe knowing she wants to steal me away?" she exclaimed shrilly.

I didn't have to even try to hear that one. It was loud as the night was dark. A small sob escaped me unbidden and I crumpled to the ground as my knees decided they could no longer support me. When I could sink no lower, I allowed my tears to flow freely, streaming down my face in little rivers.

Genny's POV

I glared at Tank, willing him to come up with some kind of proof that Mama wasn't evil. I needed physical evidence to show that my Mama was the woman everyone said that she was and not a crazy woman bent on taking back what's hers. I desperately wanted to believe in the image the Lost Boys and Papa and everyone else who knew here before had painted for me, but I couldn't see it. Every time I looked at her, I panicked, remember the cold look in her eyes as she looked at Papa this afternoon.

He didn't have anything to say. He just gazed at me, trying to figure me out. Trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I felt like asking him to let me know if he came across my problem. I could certainly use the information.

"Go back to the car," he said firmly. "We need to get a move on." I could tell he was displeased with me. With everything I'd said and all the accusations I'd made. But I couldn't do anything to rectify the situation at the moment. If I said anything more at that moment I would burst into tears like a baby, so I just turned and made my way back around the building to the car.

Russian Lost Boy was the only one there. Sitting in the driver's seat and staring straight ahead. I slid into the passenger side of the back seat and buckled up, taking a page out of RLB's book and stared straight at the back of the seat in front of me. Minutes passed in silence as we waited for Tank and Mama to return. One thing I'd learned over the years was how to sit still when all I really wanted to do was run.

"You should not be so hard on your mother," RLB suddenly said.

I moved my gaze to look at him, but was still staring at the building in front of us. "What do you know about my mother?" I asked, suspiciously.

There was a slight lift to his shoulders indicating a shrug as he responded. "I don't know her. Nor do you."

"I've heard countless stories about her," I countered. "I know all about her life."

"But you don't know her," he said knowingly. He glanced at me in the rear view mirror. "I heard all that you said during your rest stop," he informed me, tapping his ear piece. "I think you should give your mother a chance."

"You don't understand," I told him. "She-."

"I have heard of her unfortunate current condition. She must have been quite shocked and hurt this afternoon when she realised what had happened under her nose."

"It doesn't make it any easier for me," I muttered. "I don't know how to act around her. She's my own freaking mother and I don't know what to say to her! I look at her and all I see is her threatening to take me away from Papa. I want to put it behind me but I'm not sure I can! And now this." I gestured around the car and our surroundings. "Papa sent me away with her. Isn't that a clear enough message?" I'd always felt guilty for taking up his time.

"Ranger is trying to..." he paused in thought, looking for the right words. "solve problem. He needs to focus on the... problem and nothing else. He sent you and mother with me to protect you."

Mama and Tank came around the corner of the building then. As they approached the car, I made a show of adjusting my hair around my face so that Mama couldn't see the puffiness of my eyes and know that I'd been crying. It would be too awkward if she were to offer comfort right now, so it was better that she didn't know I was upset.

Once everyone was settled in their seats, Russian Lost Boy pulled the car out onto the road again. "Doughnuts are in bag at your feet," RLB told Tank, who promptly retrieved them and passed them back. There was an awkward moment when Mama and I both reached for the bag, but I quickly sat back and let her take it. She grabbed out a Boston Cream and pushed the bag across the middle seat toward me as RLB spoke again. "We play twenty questions now."

* * *

_Did you all go and check out "D Bomb" by Shreek? Isn't she awesome? If you haven't read her chapter you should go do it now and review and let her knbow what you think... Also, if you could review me as well, that's be grawesome (great+awesome=grawesome)_


	51. Twenty Questions

_It seems that no matter how late in the day I start writing a chapter, I almost always end up uploading it around the same time each night. Actually, there are two options: 22:00 ish or 02:00 ish... in this case it's the former. Anyway. I'm very pleased with how this chapter turned out and I hope you will be too. Enjoy_

**Chapter 51**

Steph's POV

No sooner were we out on the road again than we were playing a game of twenty questions. I had no idea what the Russian Merry Man – whatever the hell his name was, he hadn't introduced himself – was trying to do to us but probably, playing this game was going to make Tank throttle someone. Especially since he'd chosen to go first, and Magenta was in a mood. She'd calmed down a lot since the scene behind the gas station, but she was still giving off not-happy vibes.

Despite how much her words had hurt me, I was determined to remain pleasant toward her. She was my only daughter and if I made out like I hated her, it would probably make her hate me more in return. And the only place that would get us is family therapy. Can't say that's one of my life's ambitions. So when Tank had helped me up from the dirt and assured me that Gen was just insecure and not handling the current situation well, I had washed my face and fixed my hair and put on my best I'm-okay-with-what's-going-on face.

"I'm thinking of a person," Tank said, turning around in his seat to face us both. It seemed obvious to me that despite the fact that Russian Merry Man had suggested the game, he was not going to be an active participant. He was definitely up to something.

I looked over to Magenta, trying to let her know that she could go first, but she was still staring sulkily out the window. She hadn't even acknowledged the doughnuts I'd pushed toward her. "Is she in this car?" she asked, and I imagined her rolling her eyes.

Tank gave her a stern glare. "Gen."

She turned her head so that she was glaring back at him and this time she did roll her eyes. "What?" she demanded. "It's a question that can be answered with either a yes or a no. You have to answer it."  
He gave a short shake of his head and looked like he was praying for patience. "We'll start again. I'm thinking of a person."

"Is she-," Magenta started, but I spoke over top of her.

"Are they male or female?" I asked quickly, trying to avoid the conflict that would likely erupt if she repeated her question.

Tank looked at me and I looked back at him. All the Merry Men I remember from before I left had much easier facial expressions to read. I imagined it was something to do with having a child around all the time. "Steph," he said, exasperated. "It has to be a yes or no answer."

"Oh." I looked at my doughnut, feeling stupid for my mistake. "Right. Are they female?"

"Yes."

Magenta, who was back to gazing sullenly out the window at this point, spoke up again. "Is she-."

"It's still Steph's turn," Tank growled and received a nonplussed glare in reply before she once again turned her attention to the shadows on the other side of the glass.

"Is she alive?" I asked. I had a feeling I knew what was going on here and I couldn't quite pin point how I felt about it. Was it a good idea? I wasn't sure. I'd play along for now.

"Yes," Tank said.

"Are you sure?" Magenta said, not even bothering to glance at Tank when she spoke this time. "I mean, if people can pretend to be dead, why not pretend to be alive?" I quickly averted my gaze to the front of the car as she glared over her shoulder. Russian Merry Man narrowed his eyes in warning at her via the rear view mirror while Tank once again gave her a stern glare and uttered her name as an admonition. "Well why not?" I heard her demand.

"Because," Tank said slowly, trying to gather together his patience. "You have no functions when you're dead."

Magenta snorted. "Well that's what we assume, at least."

Apparently, Tank was unable to keep a firm hold on what little patience he had managed to grab, because he snapped, "Drop it, Gen," and turned back to face the road ahead.

"Whatever," she muttered, crossing her arms more firmly over her chest and turning to face the window fully now.

Tension spread through the air in the car, seeping into my bones as Russian Merry Man continued to drive us to an unknown location. There was only one thing I could think of to try and create a lighter atmosphere for us all, and that was to continue with the game we'd started. I thought for a moment as the silence grew. "Is she famous?" I asked

Tank had to take a moment before turning back to face us and answering, "I can't answer that."

"That wasn't a yes or no," Magenta said sarcastically. I hated to admit it, but she was reminding me a lot of myself at her age. Not only did she look just like me – if I'd had a tan of course – but she had the snarky attitude to match. If I'd been doubting that this girl was mine, I certainly would have believed it seeing how she reacted when she was forced to do things she didn't want to do. This particular situation reminded me so much of me that it felt like an out of body experience. I had to suppress the urge to look around for Valerie.

"There's no definite answer to that question," Tank explained shortly, and ironically, had this been fifteen year old me on a car trip with my parents, that would have been mom's line.

Magenta slowly turned to face him. "Does that mean it's my turn now?" she asked him, sounding less annoyed than she had.

"Yes," Tank agreed easily. "And that counts toward the twenty."

I'd almost forgotten there was supposed to be a limit to the number of questions we were allowed to ask. "What are we up to?" I asked curiously. I hadn't been keeping track, obviously.

"Four," Russian Merry Man said promptly, startling me. He'd been very quiet throughout the game so far and I'd started to assume he'd slipped into the Merry Man equivalent of Ranger's zone. I stared at him in the rear view mirror, trying to work him out, and he gave me a pleasant glance in return, like he knew I'd been watching him. Probably, he did. Ranger's men always seemed hyperaware of everything going on around them, so why should Russian Merry Man be any different?

"Is she-," Magenta started to say, drawing my attention back to the game.

Tank didn't let her finish the question we both knew was going to come from her mouth. He spoke loudly and firmly over top of her. "Swear to God, Gen," he growled. "If you ask that question I will hog tie you and put you in the trunk."

Now I remember why the Merry Men freaked me out. They could be scary as hell! The way Tanks eyes flashed when he threatened Magenta had me cringing back into my seat. My daughter, on the other hand, just laughed at him. Laughed! Tank was flashing scary, I'm-gonna-get-you-and-not-in-a-playful-way eyes at her and she _laughed at him_. Was she _insane?_

"At least the trunk is roomier than the washing machine," she said casually. "If I managed to get the ropes off I might be able to have a nice nap."

_What did she just say?_ How would she know how roomy it is in a washing machine unless she'd been inside one? I looked over at Magenta's amused expression, my face falling into the picture of astonishment. "He put you in the washing machine?" I asked. I couldn't believe it. This had to be some kind of inside joke that I just wasn't getting. I kept picturing my baby curled up inside a front loader washing machine, staring out at me. A shudder ran down my spine. God, I hope that had never happened.

"It wasn't Tank," Magenta admitted casually. Like being shoved in a washing machine happened every day. "But Tank always knew about it."

She was telling the truth. I don't know how I knew it, but I got this overwhelming sense that there was not a thread of a lie in her statement. I turned widened, horrified eyes on Tank, who was eyeing me cautiously. "And he allowed it?" I asked Magenta.

"It was never turned on," Tank explained almost sheepishly.

"No," Magenta agreed quirking her eyebrow at him. "But I was left in there for half the day."

"That was one time," Tank said defensively, looking like he wanted to throttle her – but in a nice way, the way an uncle wants to throttle his niece when she follows him around all day asking him questions about what he's doing; cute, but annoying. "And we weren't intending on leaving you there that long."

Magenta nodded her head slowly, giving him an exaggerated look of understanding. "Ohhh," she murmured. "Yeah, you're probably right. It would have been longer had Ella not needed the machine to do laundry."

At this, Tank _actually_ threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "We were called away to a client's house," he exclaimed. "It was an emergency."

As revealing as this exchange was about the life my daughter had lived, I had more pressing issues that I needed answers for. I watched the two of them staring at each other with narrowed eyes and twitching lips and mentally gathered my courage to interrupt. "Um," I uttered, grabbing their attention. For the first time I noticed how red and puffy Magenta's eyes were, and momentarily forgot what I was about to say as the urge to pull her into my arms and make everything okay washed over me. I remembered myself, however, when she reached up and brushed her wild curls from her face, briefly obscuring her eyes from view. Why was she put in the washing machine?" I asked.

She smiled lightly at me, the bright expression at odds with her red eyes. "It was something of a punishment," she explained. "See, when I was little I didn't have a naughty mat when it came to the Lost Boys. I had a naughty any-small-space-they-could-cram-me-into." She was still smiling. She was talking about being shoved into tight spaces as her punishment, and she was still smiling. I had to wonder if it had mess with her head a little.

"That's horrible," I breathed. Her smiled grew into a full grown grin. The first I'd seen on her face. And I fell a little bit more in love with her. If I could smooth things over between us I'd get to see that grin a lot more often, I realised, my chest tightening as I recalled her words from earlier. It was going to be a lot of work, but it'd all be worth it if I could get her to share that smile with me every day.

"It was fun!" she enthused, fidgeting a little with her seat belt. It made me notice that she'd been sitting very still up until now. I wondered if that came from rigorous training from Ranger. It had to use up massive amounts of self control. I'd seen this girl bouncing around the Rangeman lobby fiddling with everything in reach. She was constantly moving at least one part of her body. That she could sit so still for so long amazed me. It was certainly more than I could ever achieve.

I eyed her dubiously. "Being crammed into small spaces is fun?"

Her head bobbed up and down, wriggling in her seat to fold her legs under her. "As I grew it became more of a challenge to find spaces that were small but that I could still fit into," she explained. "Taylor always called it Reverse Hide and Seek, like we were playing a game. And after a while it did kind of turn into a game. I would keep a flashlight in my pocket and carry around study notes sometimes and use the time to memorise stuff."

"When was the last time it happened?" I asked curiously. I couldn't help it, I had to know.

They both looked thoughtful for a while, but it was Russian Merry Man that came through with the answer. "Three months," he stated with a nod. "She was stuffed into new computer box in storage closet." I glanced at Tank and Magenta for verification and saw that they both had 'aha!' expressions on their faces. I guess it was true.

"I'm quite flexible thanks to that game," Magenta commented.

Filing that information away for another time, I asked the next burning question to enter my mind. "Does Ranger know about this?"

"He had an idea about it," Tank allowed. "But I don't think he knows the full extent of what goes on."

Magenta snorted at this. "Are you kidding?" she asked incredulously. "Papa knows very intricate details of my life. I tell him practically everything."

I smiled sadly, glad that she had someone she could talk to so freely, but jealous that it wasn't me. How long would it take before I was on that level with my own daughter? If ever. Though, things were looking a lot more promising right at the moment than they had been half an hour ago.

"What about the time you slept over Meli's house and-."

"Nope," she said quickly. "Not that. He doesn't know about that. And I don't want him to either. In fact, I'm pretty sure you pinkie swore not to tell anyone about that. Nobody. Not a soul. Remember?" Her cheeks were stained red just thinking about whatever had happened that night, so I supposed it must have been quite horrifying.

"Not even the woman who gave birth to you?" Tank asked teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows. This caused a giggle to slip from between my lips, which in turn earned me a wide eyed, shocked glance from Magenta.

"_Especially_ not Mama," she intoned, looking back to Tank worriedly. "It's like a _thousand_ on the embarrassment scale!"

Tank chuckled and we both watched Magenta pull her knees up to her chest and hug them self consciously. She was pouting at Tank and her cheeks were still quite red. She'd obviously suffered for the events that had passed that night. And from what I've seen of the relationship between her and Tank, he wasn't going to let her forget about it just yet.

Eventually, Tank turned back around in his seat once more, having garnered enough pleasure out of Magenta's reaction. I too, averted my gaze, figuring she would want some time to herself to try to reassert her composure. I knew all too well what it felt like to have all your defences stripped away. It felt like you were sitting there naked and vulnerable. Tank may not have revealed any details about what had happened, but just the mention of it had her trying to cover herself up physically to make up for the exposure she felt mentally.

"Why don't we continue the game?" I finally suggested, glancing over to see her reaction.

She sent me a fleeting look that I wanted to say held a lot of gratitude and then turned her attention to the back of Tanks seat. "Is she in..." she started slowly, clearly dragging it out to give him a chance to shoot her down once more. Tank shot a warning look over his shoulder. "America?" she finished with a smug smile.

He narrowed eyes at her. A look that said he was onto her. "Yes," he drawled.

Magenta smiled sweetly back at him and asked, "Is her home in New Jersey?"

A sigh emitted from Tank as he turn around in his seat for a third time. "No," he stated, sounding resigned. He looked over to me, indicating that it was now my turn to ask a question.

I stared into Tanks eyes, trying with all my might to communicate with him through my thoughts, hoping against hope that I would suddenly develop ESP. "Does she want to make her home in New Jersey?" I asked pointedly.

"Yes," Tank said slowly, almost questioningly as he met my gaze head on.

"These are very specific questions, da?" Russian Merry Man asked, manoeuvring the car onto an off ramp.

My daughter sent him an amused eye roll, but didn't comment. "It's still Mama's turn," she pointed out.

"My apologies," RMM said with a small inclination of his head. "I was just making observation."

"That's okay," I told him gently before turning to Tank. "Does she like to..." I paused, trying to think of a way to end the question that wouldn't completely give away that I knew who he was thinking of. "No, let me start that again," I murmured, getting a twinkle in my eye. "Is she in..." Tank glared at me suspiciously. "That's not it either," I muttered. "Umm... Oh! I know! Is she white?"

Tank shook his head with a slight smile, but answered with a low, "Yes."

I grinned over at Magenta, who simply rolled her eyes at me. I chuckled a little, clearly seeing myself reflected in that action. "You're quite good at that," I told her.

"I've had a lot of practice," she deadpanned.

Tank looked between us anxiously, like he thought we might start being uncivilised toward each other at any moment. I couldn't say I blamed him. I was very apprehensive about gazing upon Magenta so openly after what I'd over heard. I was afraid I would see the hate return to her eyes. Afraid the gentle curve to her lips would drop into a hard frown at any minute.

"Next question please," Tank requested.

I smiled mischievously, never taking my eyes from Magenta's. She was watching me with equal parts curiosity and challenge. "Is she in this car?" I asked.

Tank just groaned buried his face in the head rest of the front seat.

"Just say yes, Tank," Magenta goaded, laughing at him. "We all know it's true."

I saw Russian Merry Man take a quick look at us, and his brow furrowed. "In my country," he stated. "If we know answer, we guess and win game."

"That's how it's supposed to work here as well," Tank moaned, looking at me with a pained expression on his face.

I smiled at him innocently. "Yes or no, Tank?"

"If answer is yes it narrows down options greatly," Russian Merry Man observed.

Tank looked from RMM to me to Magenta and shook his head in dismay. "They know," he assured him just as his phone began to ring on his belt.

* * *

_I am now taking suggestions to name Russian Lost Boy/Merry Man. Send in your suggestions and I'll choose the one I like the best. (That means you have to review)_

_Also, you may remember the final seen from the last chapter, involving the passing of a bag of doughnuts. Well, in a moment of pure boredom/time wasting today, I drew what I thought the scene would look like. it can be found here: becleigh(dot)deviantart(dot)com/#/d36b4sf [Replace the "(dot)"s with actual dots and you should be right as gold] There's also close ups of Magenta and Steph's expressions somewhere close to it_


	52. Safe House?

_Raymond Chandler once wrote, "When in doubt, have a man walk through the door carrying a gun." This is the kind of thing that sticks in the back of my brain. Why? for moments like these when I don't have anything else to say. But enough witht he trivia. You're hear for a new chapter, and here it is. Enjoy._

**Chapter 52**

"We're just pulling up to the gate now," Tank said into his phone by way of greeting. The set to his mouth and the way his eyebrows drew slightly closer together than usual told me it was Papa. "ETA was fifteen minutes ago, yes. We ran into a little problem when we had to stop for gas." He met my gaze in rear view mirror, giving me a pointed look as he listened to whatever Papa was now saying. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before," he confirmed. "It's been a while, but nothing really changes."

"I think he's talking about you," Russian Lost Boy informed me with a smile as the gate that had been blocking our path began to open of its own accord. "You have temper, da?"

I didn't bother to even acknowledge that statement, simply rolled my eyes and reached forward to grab the phone from Tank's hand. He wasn't passing it to me or anything like that, in fact, Papa was probably still talking when I snatched it from his grips. But I didn't care. Chances were, opportunities for me to make contact with Papa were going to be in the negative, so I had to make my own opportunities.

"Papa," I said, cutting off his words mid sentence.

"Genny-Babe," he said, sounding less than impressed. "Give the phone back to Tank."

"Not until I'm ready," I informed him. "I can't believe you would do this to me!"

"Magenta I don't have much time," Papa said sternly. "Give me back to Tank and we'll talk about this another time."

I scoffed at that. "Why? You were just talking to Tank about it anyway."

"Gen."

"You said you wouldn't force me. You said you would protect me no matter what. You said-."

"That's exactly what I'm doing!" Papa exclaimed over top of me, causing me to dissolve into shocked silence. Papa rarely yells, but when he does, you've gotta believe that he has good reason to. "I didn't send you away with your Mama because I'm forcing you to be with her. Or because I don't want you anymore," he explained and I could hear the hard edge to his voice. If I could see his face right now, I knew it would hold his blank punishment expression. "I sent you away because I love you and I don't want you in danger," he said more softly.

"But Mama-," I tried to say, but he cut me off once more.

"I know what your Mama said. I know you're anxious about spending time with her. I know you don't trust her because of what she said. But I also know that Stephanie Plum would never do anything to harm you. I know that she loves you with all her heart. She regrets that she didn't get to raise you herself. Give her a chance, Genny-Babe. No more tantrums. Promise me. You're not three anymore but Tank can still put you over his knee if he has to." I promised I wouldn't throw anymore hissy fits while in his absence and he demanded I give the phone back to Tank.

By this time, we'd reached the top of the long driveway and were parked at the front door of the house. Mama had slipped out of the car when I wasn't watching and was standing not far away, staring. I couldn't blame her. As I exited the car and looked up I realised that this place was massive. Had to be at least two stories.

Definitely was not what I was expecting.

This didn't seem like a safe house the way I thought of them. Weren't safe houses supposed to be completely isolated? Surrounded on all sides by dense trees? And only contain two rooms? I did a quick calculation in my head and decided that unless there was only one room per floor, this house had a lot more than two rooms. I'd have to wait until morning to fully assess the other two categories, but I was going to go out on a limb and suggest that maybe, just maybe, there weren't as many trees as there should be.

As I continued to gaze at the monstrosity I considered the term safe house sum more. No matter how I looked at it, the only part of that title it fulfilled was 'safe'. I could see the outer security panel by the front door, and at least three surveillance cameras. Motion detection lights at intervals throughout the yard, I assumed. This was what Lester referred to as the Rangeman Special, reserved for high end, muy importante clients.

"This isn't a safe house," Mama breathed, looking over at me, the porch light catching a twinkle in her eye. "This is the G.I. Joe equivalent of Barbie's Dream House." I wanted to gag at the Barbie reference, but I couldn't help but acknowledge that she was right. This had everything a military man would want securing his home. "The fence line is probably booby trapped," she added as an afterthought. "No chance of escape."

"Not that _you_ would try to escape," Tank chuckled, stepping between us has he stashed his cell. "Right Steph?"

Mama didn't answer. She kept her eyes trained on the dark yard she was now inspecting.

Tank turned to look at me. "Gen?"

I immediately averted my gaze. No way was I going to not try to escape. Just because I promised I wouldn't throw another tantrum didn't mean I had to sit in a massive house – that was probably draughty – and twiddle my thumbs like a good girl. The first chance I got I was going to explore the grounds and see if I couldn't devise some kind of a plan.

The security camera positioned to the left of the porch steps caught my attention as it panned across. I skipped up the steps two at a time and climbed onto the porch railing to get a closer look at it.Yep. Definitely the Rangeman Special. Of all the cameras Rangeman utilised I'd recognise this one anywhere. It was the same as the ones positioned all around Haywood.

"Does this feed back to the control room?" I called over to where Russian Lost Boy was pulling to duffle bags from the trunk of the SUV.

"Nyet," he stated, climbing the stairs as I waved my hand in front of the lens. I almost fell off my perch when the camera swung around to face me. Once I'd regained my composure, however, I pulled an ugly face at it. Russian Lost Boy watched me curiously until I jumped back down to the deck and the camera returned to its original position. "It feeds to communications chamber on property," he informed me.

"Where's that?"

Raising a single brow, he jabbed at the keys on the security panel and swiped his Rangeman ID. "Is on property," he repeated. "Scarecrow is monitor."

Scarecrow was another one of Papa's employees. I'd heard him mentioned about a thousand times over the years but never once had I see him. Not even in security footage or photos or anything like that. Papa said it was because he worked the nightshift in the tech department, but I had a theory that he was either a ninja or smoke. Not the normal kind of smoke though. Think a man that was hit by a radioactive smoke machine and then developed smoke like qualities. He was like Spiderman, only smoke.

Last year Meli and I had staked out the tech department for a full twenty four hours trying to catch a glimpse of him, but the most we'd gotten was four hours of sleep, a random photo of Vince's nose and twenty straight hours of pure boredom. When I later lamented to Papa about it he informed me that Scarecrow had had the day off because of a family emergency. Convenient.

While I was busy contemplating ways to finally get a visual on this Scarecrow guy, Russian Lost Boy had finished getting the door open and disappeared inside. Mama was climbing the steps toward me and Tank was locking up the SUV.

"Everyone inside," he said, coming toward us. "Scarecrow would have gotten essential groceries on the way here, so there should be some TV dinners in the freezer we can zap. Then I think we should all get some rest."

Mama looked confused at that. "Who's Scarecrow?" she asked over her shoulder as she lead the way in. She didn't make it very far, stopping dead in her tracks in the middle of the entrance way. "No way," she uttered. "Oohhh nooo. Nah ah. Let me out of here. I can't go any further."

I was too busy taking in the moulding on the ceiling and didn't notice Mama had spun around and was making her way back toward the door until we collided front on with two heft 'oofs' and a grapple of limbs as we both tried to keep ourselves upright. Mama was gripping my upper arms as I regained my balance, but her attention wasn't on me. It was on something directly over my shoulder. My first thought was that the house was haunted. That she was staring at a ghost that was right behind me, blocking the only exit in the immediate vicinity with its ghoulish grin and hollow eyes. But then I remembered that Tank had been bring up the rear and immediately relaxed. No ghosts would dare to come anywhere near the house with Tank here.

I heard the click of the front door and turned to find him resetting the alarm. Mama, who had released me when I moved, whimpered. "Tank," she beseeched. "Please don't do this. I can't. I'm not ready."

"I don't have a choice, Steph," he apologised. "There's nowhere else Ranger would even consider with Gen involved."

"Then he should have sent us to separate places," she stated defiantly. "I can't be here. It's not right."

This confused me as much as much as everything else in the past twelve seconds, and the curiosity was beginning to weigh on my brain. I had to ask. "What the hell is wrong? It's just a big, well secured house."

Mama turned slowly to look at me with wide eyes. "It's the Batcave," she whispered hoarsely, all colour draining from her face.

"The what?" I asked.

"The Batcave," Tank repeated on a chuckle. "I forgot about that." He moved past us and headed toward the other end of the wide hall. "Kitchen's this way," he called. "We'll eat first and then I show you to your rooms."

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled and I hurried after Tank. After a few steps, however, I realised that Mama was frozen in place, breathing quickly and shaking her head slowly from side to side. I was still felt iffy about her inside, but seeing her like this squashed those feelings down a little. Enough for me to brave pushing her down the hall until her legs started working again. By the time I'd managed to get her to the kitchen, Tank already had to steaming dinners on the table and was waiting for the third to finish in the microwave.

Mama sat in chair at the table of her own accord, but made no move to start eating. "This is Ranger's way of asserting his power over me, isn't it?" she asked Tank as he came over with his own dinner. "He's telling me that the ball is once again his court indefinitely. That I choice in the matter."

I'd been shovelling peas into my mouth as she moaned out her words. "How does Papa asserting power have anything to do with the Batcave? Whatever that is," I enquired, gulping down half the glass of milk Tank handed me. "All he's done is send us here out of the way while he does his He Man act back in Trenton."

She shook her head sadly. "You don't get it," she told me. "The Batcave is forever."

I looked to Tank for an explanation when she fell silent and simply stared at the food in front of her. I didn't understand any of what she was going on about and it didn't make sense that she be so upset about it when five minutes ago she was all hunky dory about being sent to a safe house. How does three steps inside the house change things that drastically? I chewed my latest mouthful more slowly as I considered it. Maybe the house really was haunted.

"The Batcave is Batman's lair," Tank said, like I couldn't have worked that out for myself. I gave him by best _'And?'_ look around my fork. "Remember when we were at Abuelo's house last week?" he asked. Of course I did. It was last week. And some scary stuff had happened while we were there. I rolled my eyes at him to continue. "What did you discover about Papa's identity that night?" I stared blankly, trying to think back to the contents of the conversations that had taken place, but I must have taken too long because Tank sighed and said, "Papa is Batman."

Having mostly snapped out of her spiral of doom, Mama took over the explanation. "This is Ranger's house."

"Papa has an apartment," I corrected, shaking my head. "It's on the seventh floor of the Rangeman building in Trenton. It's where we live. Why would Papa and I live in an apartment if he has a house like this?"

"He decided it would be best if you could be close to your grandparents," Tank justified. "Plus he'd promised to work together with Morelli to look after you, so it didn't make sense to move so far away."

"The Batcave is forever," Mama repeated. "Once you're in you can never leave."

I snorted at that. It seemed highly unlikely that Papa would even try to keep us here longer than we needed to stay out of the way. A few days probably. A week at the most. And then I'd be back in the apartment with all my familiar stuff. "I doubt that's what he meant by forever," I yawned. "Right Tank?"

"Right," he conceded. "Time for bed." We both looked at Mama's untouched tray of food and he added. "Steph, you eat something, I'll show Gen to her room and be back in a minute or two." She nodded numbly as we left.

!

"No way," I exclaimed, taking in the room I had just entered. The room that was mine. Clearly meant only for me. Posters of my favourite bands were stuck on the wall. A framed picture of Mama sat on the dresser, next to a raggedy old bear I recognised from my child hood who was missing an eye and half an ear. The fronts of the drawers were tinted plexiglass so that I could see into them and see the clothes neatly folded within. I didn't hesitate to rifle through the items, noting that they were all my size and style. "Papa did all this?" I ask incredulously, running my hand along the back of the chair at the desk. I noticed that the bedspread was the same as the one I had at home and immediately tossed myself on top of it. "It's incredible!"

"He's updated it a few times over the years," Tank said, standing in the doorway. "Check out your en suite."

I didn't need to be told twice. In a flash I had crossed to the door that stood ajar and pushed through to an immaculate bathroom complete with the fluffy towels I loved so much and the dinosaur scrubbing brush I had never been able to give up. I inspected the toiletries set out on the vanity and noted that they were all the brands that I used regularly. Papa definitely had me down to a tee.

I stuck my head back out the door. "I'm gonna take a quick shower. You can go back to Mama if you want."

He shook his head. "I'll be out in the hall. I have chosen a guest room for myself yet and I need to make sure the cameras are working. And I need to talk to you before you go to sleep."

A few minutes later, having dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts I found in the drawer, I wondered out into the hall to find Tank, grim faced, holding his phone to his ear. "Thanks for letting us know," he said to the person on the other end as he hung up and looked over at me.

"Who was that?" I asked cautiously. It wasn't every day that Tank got grim, so it had to be ultra bad news.

"That was Bobby," he stated flatly, letting his hands drop to his side lifelessly. "Ranger's been shot."

* * *

_BAHM. BAHM. BAAAAAAHHHHMMM! How do you like them apples? Review if you want to find out more._


	53. Worse Odds than a Coin toss

_First of all, for those with short attention spans, I apologise for both my lack of activity over the last few days and the great length of this chapter. Believe it or not, most of this chapter was written in the last five or six hours, which means that I have been very unwritey lately. Anyway, I eventually bribed my muse back into allowing the story to continue (not with cookies though, Kim, with an oversized box of Nerds I found in the cupboard) and here is the next chapter. Extra long. Longest chapter I've ever written on here, I believe._

**Chapter 53**

Tank's POV

"Shot?" Genny echoed, staring at me with a bewildered expression on her face. I nodded silently. "As in _SHOT_ shot?" she asked.

"Yes." It was a simple answer and probably all I was capable of at the moment as I was still processing the information Bobby had given me. Gen seemed to be more articulate.

"Shot with a bullet?" she asked incredulously.

Some kind of normalcy washed over me as I stared into the eyes of the girl who has been an asset in my life since the day she entered it. I couldn't stand seeing her completely stressed out like she had been lately, so in an attempt to lighten the mood, despite my own turmoil, I said, "No, a tranquiliser dart." The sudden relief that crossed her face made me feel guilty. Of course she didn't get my miserable attempt at a joke. She was looking for better news than that of her father having been shot. Obviously, a tranquiliser is preferable to a bullet.

"Oh thank gosh!" she breathed, putting a hand to her chest like it had just started beating again. "For a second there I thought you were telling me that-." She stopped, staring at my face for a moment. Her brows drew together in confusion and I knew exactly what she was thinking. People had been hit with tranq darts on operations before, the routine is to shove them in the back of the SUV if you have time and opportunity, or leave them there to be retrieved later. "Why would Bobby call if it was only a -." She paused again, making the realisation with a shake of the head. "It wasn't a tranq," she stated. I simply shook my head. "So it was a bullet?"

"Yes."

"Fired from a gun."

"Yes."

She stared at me for a moment and I didn't think she was breathing. Her face was frozen in between expression so that there was no way of knowing exactly what her thoughts were at current. I thought for a moment that she was going to faint, or perhaps start crying, but she didn't. After a tense moment she breathed in sharply and coughed, blinking her eyes rapidly. "Where?" she asked.

This was the question I had been dreading. Gen knew a little about what kind of wounds were worse than others. She knew the difference between a minor injury and a major injury. I took a steadying breath and hoped to god that she wouldn't freak out on me, because I didn't think I could calm her down if she took this information badly. "He was shot in the stomach," I said softly.

"That's bad," she whispered hoarsely, and I could see the tears welling in her eyes like she wanted to cry. "Stomach wounds are bad, right?" All I could do was nod. She wrapped her arms around her own stomach in a kind of hug and turn away from me for a moment. "What did Bobby say?" she asked, not looking at me now. "How bad is it?"

"They took him straight into surgery when they got to the hospital," I told her. "Haven't heard anything yet."

"We have to go see him." Her eyes were clear when she turned to face me. No tears. It was a relief as much as a worry. The girl had never seen her father with more than a minor flesh wound. She should have been a little less together, I thought, especially considering the unpredictable ups and down of her life in the past two weeks. Instead, she was steady and determined. Not even a slight quiver to her voice. "I have to make sure he's alright."

I felt bad for her, but I couldn't allow that to happen. I'd been given orders that I was to keep Gen and her mother safe until we could catch the guy who was after Steph had been eliminated. That meant we were here until the rest of the team brought him down, and since Ranger had been shot, it was probably going to take longer than expected. Bobby was at the hospital with Ranger, which left Lester in charge of Carter, Vasto, Cal, Hal and Junior. This knowledge didn't exactly comfort me. I knew Lester was a dedicated soldier and capable of anything when he set his mind to it, but it was hard to remember this when I so often saw him goofing off rather than doing his work.

Magenta sighed when I took too long to reply and started walking down the hall toward the stairs. It wasn't until I heard Steph's exclaimed, "WHAT?" that I thought to follow her. I'd only made it half way down the stairs by the time they were both in the hall. I stopped dead in my tracks as Steph glared up at me, her hands fisted on her hips. If I had to take a guess, I would say this was roughly equivalent to Lula's rhino mode. A state of rage I had not thought about in many years, and shivered to think about it now. I could tell I was in for one hell of an argument now. Steph was not one to sit around twiddling her thumbs in a situation like this. I was surprised she'd been so pleasant about the whole situation after she woke up in the car.

I wasn't so lucky now.

"Get your keys," she demanded. "We're going back to Trenton."

"No," I said firmly, knowing full and well that she would simply insist again. And again. Until she got her way. And this time it was worse, because Magenta was just like her mother when it came to begging and pleading to get what she wanted. Despite Gen's continued apprehension, I had absolutely no doubt that they would gang up on me.

"We have to," she insisted.

"What we have to do," I told her, "is stay here, where we're safe."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Riiight," she said, drawing the syllable out. "You expect me to accept that? You should know better than to think I'd willingly stay here when there's trouble brewing back home. I may not have been the best bounty hunter of all time, but I had courage. We're going back."

"There's nothing you can do for him right now," I tried. "It's better if you just stay here like Ranger wanted until-."

"Until what?" Gen shrieked, finally showing the kind of emotion I'd expected of her. "Until he dies? You know that's a possibility as much as I do, Tank. Stomach wounds can be fatal."

"Can be," I assured her, not really feeling it myself. She was right, there was a possibility he could die. "Gen, it'll take hours to get back to Trenton."

I watched as she crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet solidly apart. Her stance was all Ranger, but as I locked eyes with her, I realised that her expression was definitely her mother. "I don't care if it takes all freaking night," she seethed. "We have to go back to Trenton. Now." Her words, on the other hand, were starting to remind me of Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. You know the part where she demands a golden egg and then bursts into song. I half expected Gen to start prancing around the hall singing _Don't care how, I want it now!_ And before you say anything, it's been years since I watched that movie, and even then it was only at Gen's insistence.

"Ranger has never once failed to be there for me when I've needed him," Steph added. "Every time I blew up a car, or got kidnapped. He was there. When I was shot. You better believe he was there. Every time I needed him. And if he wasn't available to help me out, he'd send you, or one of the other Merry Men. Tank, he's never let me down, and I don't want to let him down. We need to go to the hospital to be there when he wakes up."

She made a compelling case. But it wasn't true. "He wasn't there for you every time," I said, slowly descending the rest of the steps to stand directly in front of her. "He couldn't help you when you died."

A frustrated growl emanated Gen as she threw her hands in the air. "Mama _didn't_ _die!_" she pointed out. "It was an illusion. She's clearly alive right now!"

Steph's eyes widened as she glanced from me, to her daughter, and back to me with a confused expression on her face. "Wh-what is she talking about, Tank?" she asked, her voice was quiet. Out of fear or something else, I couldn't tell. "When did I die?"

"You _didn't,"_ Gen repeated, shaking her head. "It just looked like you did. And of course, we all believed you did." She paused just a second. "Well, not me, since I was a kid, but what am I supposed to think when everyone else thinks you're dead and _they_ can actually remember your funeral."

"Funeral?" Steph squeaked, turning abruptly to stare at her daughter more directly. "I had a _funeral?_" Then she started travelling her gaze around the hall. "Oh god. I'm dead aren't I? This is just some weird afterlife dream or something. I'm not really here."

Genny raised her hands in a placating gesture she'd probably picked up from watching Ranger calming Mrs Plum down over the years. It was one and the same. "No!" she said gently, sounding a little alarmed. "No, no, that's not what I'm saying. You're definitely alive. We're definitely here." She looked to me with pleading in her eyes. "We thought you were dead because it was made to look like you were dead. Really, you were just sleeping and Diesel-"

She laughed then, surprising us both. "Diesel," she chuckled. "Of course it was Diesel. Why wouldn't it be Diesel?"

"Umm...?" Gen murmured, stepping back a little.

"Why don't we go into the living room and discuss this more comfortably," I suggested, indicated that they should follow me down the hall.

Once we were settled in the large living room I began to tell her the details of her disappearance from Gen's life that she had not yet remembered. I know that I wasn't supposed to, but having let it slip already, and seeing the state of shock and confusion she'd worked herself into, I could see no other solution than to explain.

"And then two days ago we found out that you weren't actually dead," I finished some time later. Steph had grown increasingly pale throughout my recount and at one stage had asked for a bucket so she could vomit, but she wouldn't let me stop until she'd heard it all. Now, she was lying on the couch with her head propped against the arm rest and a cool washcloth on her brow. Gen was sitting cross legged on the floor three feet away, watching her mother anxiously. I could tell that she was quickly warming to Steph's presence now. The mere fact that she had gone straight down to her after finding out that Ranger had been shot was evidence of a growing acceptance. It would probably still be a while before she would fully trust her enough to perhaps stay with her without either Ranger, or Lester, Bobby or I – or maybe Morelli – present, but it was more progress than I would have expected after her reaction in the control room this afternoon.

"I think Papa feels really guilty that he wasn't there when you were being poisoned and stuff," Gen said softly, inching forward a little so that she could see Steph's face more clearly in the low lighting. "And he doesn't like that Diesel let you get poisoned."

Steph pushed herself into a half sitting position with a grimace and looked down at Gen's solemn expression. "Diesel didn't let me get poisoned," she assured Gen. "It wasn't his fault."

At this, Gen shook her head. "That's not the way Papa sees it. He thinks Diesel dropped the ball. He should have been more aware of what was going on. Papa would have noticed you being poisoned earlier and would have been able to catch who was doing it and we would have avoided all of this."

A furrow creased Steph's brow at Gen's words. "Ranger told you all that?" she asked curiously.

Gen shook her head with a slight smile and said, "Not in so many words, but I feel I interpreted his non verbal communications fairly accurately. Don't you Tank?"

This caused me to let out a small chuckle as I recalled Ranger's reaction to being told that Steph had been poisoned right under Diesel's nose. "I'd say so," I agreed, and she joined in with a soft titter of her own.

Confused, Steph just stared at us for a moment before asking, "What's so funny?"

"Papa pulled Diesel across the table and strangled him when he read the letter you wrote informing us all that you'd been poisoned," Gen informed her. "But that's all besides the point. Papa's in the hospital – probably with half his guts exposed right now – and we need to get to him, because I need to be there when he wakes up."

"You don't need to be there when he wakes up," I told her on a groan. Stupidly, I'd thought she'd forgotten about wanting to go back to see Ranger. Note to self: never underestimate the persistence of Magenta Anne Plum. "There is absolutely no reason we for us to leave this house."

Gen was suddenly on her feet in front of me making loud gestures with her hands that barely missed my face. "Do you know the survival rate of people with gunshot wounds to the belly?" she asked me, I had to say no to avoid being caught in a lie. "Bobby told me once. Do you wanna know what it is?" I did, but I could tell from the set of her mouth that it wasn't going to be good news, and with Steph looking as weak as she did, I wasn't sure she could handle any more bad news. "Forty-five percent, give or take," she stated without waiting for a reply. "That's worse odds than a flip of a coin, Tank. I want to be there."

I understood her reasoning, but I still couldn't do it. I'd promised to keep them both safe and this was the safest place there was at the moment. If we went back to Trenton we ran the risk of the killer finding them, which is potentially a worse scenario to have to deal with. "Gen," I started. "I-."

"He could die," she interrupted, her voice a lot softer as she sank back onto the floor. There were tears pooling on her bottom lashes again, now. The full weight of the situation was sinking in and obviously upsetting her. "If he's going to die I want to be right there so I can say good bye to him."

This kid was breaking my heart. I was almost tempted to herd them out to the car right then and there, based solely on the sadness I saw in her eyes as she spoke. But I didn't. I couldn't. We had to stay here.

"No one is going to die," Steph said gently, putting her hand on Gen's shoulder and squeezing lightly. "Ranger's strong, he'll get through this." In the next moment Gen had turned, wrapped her arms around Steph and buried her face in her shoulder. With her eyes locked on me, a shocked expression on her face, she cautiously laid her arms over Gen's back, slowly rubbing gently circles. "Nothing's going to keep your Papa from you, Magenta," she murmured quietly, still looking at me as she said it. "I promise." Gen's shoulders shook as a broken sob burst from her chest. Steph's maternal instinct must have kicked in at the sight of her daughter so obviously distressed, because she immediately sat up and urged Gen onto the couch cushion beside her, keeping her arms wrapped around her the entire time. Once settled again she resumed rubbing and began murmuring reassuring words.

It took a long time for Gen to finally calm down enough breath normally. Once her breathing was normal she pulled a little away from Steph, looking awkward that she'd pretty much thrown herself at her. Steph allowed her the freedom to move away, but did not lose contact with her daughter. Gen crossed her legs on the cushion and hugged herself as Steph laid her hand lightly on her thigh. It made me proud to see Gen starting to accept her mother's comfort.

"We need to go back to Trenton," Steph implored. "Please, Tank."

"Steph-." I was cut off by a peculiar look being speared at me. It was oddly threatening. Instead of talking to me, though, she turned to look at Gen.

"Do you happen to know Tank's real name?" she asked curiously. Gen, of course, shook her head. My given name was a well kept secret in the Rangeman world. Only Ranger and Lester knew it. It wasn't even on my personal records. "If Tank doesn't agree to take us back to Trenton, I'll tell you what it is." She gave me a pointed look, thinking she'd gotten me there.

Rather than give a straight yes or no, I decided to try a different tactic. "I can't take you back-."

Steph, thinking I would end my sentence there, jumped in with an excited, "Tank's real name is-." But I managed to clamp my hand over her mouth before she got the fatal information out.

"I can't take you back _right now_," I said firmly. "Unlike the two of you, I didn't have a nice nap on the way here." Gen opened her mouth to say something but I pointed a finger at her in warning and she immediately clamped it shut. "I know it wasn't a voluntary nap for the first part," I explained. "But you can't deny that you napped on the way here. I, on the other hand, was awake the entire way. Not to mention, I've been up since five o'clock this morning. I have it on good authority that you did not awaken until at least eight." I let that sink in for a moment before making my offer. "For tonight. We need to stay here. In the morning, I will call in to Trenton, get a progress report from Lester on the hunt and if everything is all clear, we'll head out after breakfast."

They looked at me silently, probably processing the implications of what I was saying. Before long though, Gen voiced what was on her mind. "What about Papa?"

"Bobby will call with an update as soon as he knows something," I promised. "Now we should all get to bed."

Genny's POV

Three hours later, with the sound of Tank's snoring penetrating the serene darkness of my bedroom – the bedroom Papa had set up especially for me, taking into account my likes and dislikes – I lay awake thinking about Tank's deal. There was a fifty-fifty chance of going back home tomorrow, and while I wanted to put my faith in the Lost Boys and say that they would, without a doubt, have the situation under control by morning. No matter what. But I knew that things didn't always go to plan. I'd seen two day jobs turn into two week mini missions. All I could do was hope that this wasn't one of those times. I needed something to ensure that Tank would take us back tomorrow. I needed some kind of insurance.

On a spur of the moment decision, I decided to check out Papa's bedroom. What was I looking to achieve? No idea. But I felt I needed to be there if I was to find a way to get back to my father. If nothing else, it would help me feel closer to him at the moment.

As I crept down the hall toward the master bedroom, my rampant curls falling in my face every half step despite my efforts to secure them behind my ears, I saw the flickering light under the door. I realised what it meant right away. Mama had chosen to sleep in Papa's bed. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but I didn't want to think about it right at the moment. I hadn't had the chance to look around properly before being sent, almost forcibly, to bed, and I wasn't going to let Mama stop me from exploring just because she was possibly asleep in Papa's room.

I quietly pushed the door open and saw that although the television was still running, showing scenes from _Ghostbusters_, Mama was fast asleep on the bed, her hand curled into the sheets on the side of the bed that I knew Papa would have been sleeping on if he were here.

Now that I was here I thought I should check out the closet. I'd been in Papa's closet at home a few times and new he hid items in there that I probably wasn't supposed to know about or have access to. Usually, I would have respected this and left well enough alone, but right now, Papa was probably lying in a hospital bed with about a million tubes coming out of his various orifices. I think I could make an exception just this once. It was for a good cause after all.

I stared at the fully rack of clothes before me, picturing myself at twelve years old, peeking in behind all the black cloth to see what was hidden behind. Knowing Papa, this closet would have the same set up to avoid any kind of confusion. I was counting on that. I was hoping I could find his gun locker. Once I found it, I was hoping I could somehow get into it. Fingers crossed, right?

The hangers squeaked loudly on the bar as I shifted some shirts aside to reveal the vault behind, just where I suspected it might be. I cringed at the sound, hoping Mama was a heavy sleeper, and moved closer to scrutinise the lock. Combination. This could be a problem. Two year ago, Papa had taught me how to break and enter, which, of course, included lock picking. Unfortunately, there was no combination cracking. How many houses do you know that were locked with a combination? None. That's how many. So why would Papa teach me how to crack a combination? He wouldn't. Exactly.

I had, however, seen the Italian Job. Both versions. At least a couple of times each. If Charlize Theron could crack a safe by ear, I didn't see why I couldn't. I set to work quickly, failing three times before I got the hang of what I was listening for. I'd just heard the final click of the lock releasing when I sensed I was being watched. Turning quickly around, I found Mama standing there in camisole top and long, stretch knit pyjama bottoms. Her hair was sticking out at odd angles making her look a little like a cockatoo with its head thingy up.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly, coming to kneel on the floor beside me.

In answer, I simply opened up the front of the vault. "I want to make sure we go back home today."

She looked confused by the combination of what I showed her and what I told her, and I guess I understood that. I, myself, wasn't exactly sure of what my plan was at this point. All I knew was that the contents of this steel box was the key. I pulled out one of the smaller guns and weighed it in my hand, but Mama suddenly snatched it from my hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" she exclaimed in a whisper. "Do you know how dangerous this thing is?" She was looking at me like I was deranged for having picked it up in the first place. She held the gun from her thumb and forefinger, careful not to touch it anywhere else. "You could have shot someone."

"I know how to handle a gun," I told her. "Papa taught me years ago and I spend an hour in the gun range once every three months to make sure I don't forget. Once I turn eighteen the hours increase, and presumably, I'll actually be expected to carry, because Papa wants me to be safe."

I watched her take in this information with a gulp. "What's your plan?" she asked.

I hadn't thought of one yet, but I threw caution to the wind and opened my mouth anyway. Whatever came out, that was our plan. "We've gotta target the Russian," I heard myself say. "He's our best bet."

"What do you mean by best bet?" she asked, eyeing the gun she still would not let me have back.

"I mean, Tank knows me. Really well. I tell him the details of my life that I don't tell anyone else. Not even Papa. He's got an accurate picture of how my mind works and he can manipulate me so that I end up not doing what I had planned to do but something much more acceptable. It's a real pain in the butt at times," I muttered. "So if we try to pull one over on Tank he's going to see right through it. We can't make him the target. We have to manipulate the Russian without Tank knowing."

Mama nodded slowly. Staring at the guns all lined up neatly. "And you plan to manipulate him using this?" she asked, holding the gun a little higher between us. "You're going to shoot him?"

"Of course not," I assured her. "Tank would know if I shot Russian Lost Boy. I'm just going to intimidate him."

"You realise most of the men Ranger hires are ex-mil, right?" she asked on a yawn. "How do you expect to intimidate one of the Merry Men?"

RLB's POV

I stared calmly at the gun pointed at my face, calculating the likelihood of getting shot. At this range it was highly unlikely, but not completely impossible to miss, especially if the person shooting had little or no training. If unprepared, the kick of the blast could knock off the shooter's aim. Nerves and shaking hands could also cause a person to miss. Waking up with these kinds of thoughts was not an unfamiliar experience for me. As a boy my own brother would often wake me by kicking down my bedroom door holding a gun aimed directly at my heart. The sight of the gun as I'd opened my eyes was almost a comfort to me. Until I remembered that the person holding the gun was not going to be my brother. He'd been killed years ago in a mafia related incident that was entirely too predictable for me to feel truly sorry for him.

I refocused my gaze to lock on the big blue eyes looking steadily back at me. She seemed to be scrutinising my expression for signs of fear, or perhaps an indicator as to whether I was going to react. I knew better than to show either, not that I was scared or about to overthrow her. The determined gleam in her eye told me this was just something she had to do and I wasn't going to get in the way of that.

"You're going to help us," she informed me. Her voice was very quiet, almost menacing, but did not affect me. I had was too used to the situation to feel the terror one would expect, and her tone was the same she used to manipulate the other Rangemen on a day to day basis. I concluded then that the gun was just a tool she expected would help her get what she wanted. "If you don't help us, I'm going to blow your brains out."

"Blow his brains out?" came an alarmed voice from behind her. I shifted my attention briefly over her shoulder and noticed Boss Girl Mother standing close by. Unlike her daughter her face was a picture of worry and nervousness. "Isn't that a little extreme?" She glanced at the gun and added anxiously, "Maybe you should move the gun a little lower."

Boss Girl rolled her eyes. "Mama, I know what I'm doing."

I knew she told the truth. Boss Man Ranger had made sure she could handle a gun if she needed to. She probably had knowledge of hand to hand combat as well if he was thorough, which meant that even though she was a small girl, she could be difficult to overpower. I would cross that bridge when it was necessary. For now, I weighed the merits of resisting.

"You're sure he speaks English?" Mother asked, leaning in a little closer to stare down at me.

"Of course he speaks English," Boss Girl said with an eye roll. "He was speaking English in the car on the way here, wasn't he?"

Mother took a step back again. "Oh. Right. Well..." she mumbled. "Maybe he isn't awake enough to understand yet. Try saying something in Russian."

Keeping her gun trained on me, Boss Girl turned to look at her mother. "Do I look like a Russian-English dictionary to you? I don't even know Spanish properly and I live in a building with at least three guys who speak nothing but. You think I'm gonna know _Russian?_"

"Um..." Mother uttered. "What about Dostoyevsky?" she suggested and I had to fight to keep the grin from breaking forth on my face. Boss Girl Mother could be so adorable.

"Brilliant, Mama," Boss Girl deadpanned, shaking her head as she turned to face me again. "I commend your communication skills. What was that? What did you just ask? _How's it hanging?_ Dostoyevsky is a writer."

"I know that," Mother said as she crossed her arms. "But it was the only Russian word I could think of."

"The hanging is fine," I informed them quietly and they both jumped at the sound of my voice.

Boss Girl took one hand off the gun she was holding and pressed it her chest over her heart. "Geez," she said. "You've been hanging around Demon, haven't you? Didn't anyone ever tell you not to startle a teenage girl with a gun?"

"My apologise," I murmured. "I did mean to."

Mother looked at me confusedly. "You mean did _not_, right?"

"Is what I say." I knew what I'd meant to say, and I knew the moment I'd said that it wasn't right, but I wasn't going to let her know that. "I will service for you."

"What?" Mother asked. It seemed she was having trouble understanding my accent. I knew it was much thicker when I first woke up.

"I say I will service for you," I repeated slowly and, I thought, more clearly. Mother had a bigger confusion clouding her features now, though.

With a sigh, Boss Girl tucked the gun into the waistband of her shorts. "He said he'll help us," she explained, then looked at me curiously. "What's your name anyway?"

"Tom," I told her, with a small incline of my head as I sat up.

"Seriously?" she asked. "Tom?" Her face held a hint of amusement, but I did not allow it to irritate me. I knew her expectations would be high given the ridiculous nicknames that were thrown around the company.

"Da."

"Tom..." Mother said slowly, drawing the syllable out. "Is that short for something?"

"Nyet."

"What about a last name?" Boss Girl asked almost hopefully.

"Just Tom," I told her firmly.

She snorted in displeasure. "You look more like a Viktor," she informed me. "Or maybe a Dimitri."

"Or a Thor," Mother contributed, gazing at me critically. "I can definitely see him as a Thor."

As much as it was cute and maybe thoughtful of them for try to rename me, Tom was my name and it would always be my name. No silly American custom was going to make me change that. "I am Tom," I said once more. "Just Tom."

"Well, Just Tom," Boss Girl said, perching on the edge of my bed. "Here's our plan."

* * *

_Tom and I would like to thank the team of translators we had on standby while writing this chapter so that he could present his point of view in a coherent manner for you all to understand. Unfortunately, due to issues with authenticity, we have had to keep Tom's dialogue to exactly how he said it, despite his desire to have me change it what he meant to say._

_Tom would also like to encourage you to send in your lovely reviews as he is eager to get on with the plan._


	54. Escape

_The floods are getting worse here, and a little closer to home as well. It's raining steadily again and the river that runs through town is on the rise. Despite all these worrying factors, I have another chapter for you all. Hope you enjoy it._

**Chapter 54**

I was sitting at the breakfast nook watching Tom scrutinise the teabag he held in front of his face as I slowly ate my bowl of Lucky Charms. I'd decided that Russians had a unique ability to create deep furrows in their brows when frowned, because I had never seen such a furrowed brow in all my life. Occasionally, he would bring the bag closer to his face and sniff at it, immediately screwing up his nose in reaction to the smell. Tea wasn't exactly my cup of tea, so I didn't second guess his expression as he muttered, "Is not right," and thrust the tea bag in my direction. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Drawing back away from it, just in case it decided to contaminate me, I pulled the kettle off its electric base and poured some of the hot water into the empty mug on the counter in front of him. "Dunk it," I managed to say while slurping the dregs from my bowl.

He turned his frown on me then. "This is not tea," he informed me, but dunked the bag in anyway. "It is disgrace."

"You're gonna drink it anyway," I said with a slight smile and a knowing look before averting my attention to Tank, who had been in the corner for the past ten minutes, talking softly into his cell phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying, nor could I even attempt to read his lips as he was facing away from us. "What do you think the chances of us going home today are?" I asked Tom casually.

He shrugged and sniffed at the liquid in his cup. "I cannot say either way," he said. "And I cannot drink this."

"If you don't drink it you'll be wasting it," I told him, using the same tone Dad used on my when I was eight and wouldn't eat my vegetables. "There are children in third world countries that would die for a cup of tea like that."

"That holds more power when it's not a luxury item, Genny," Tank said, slipping his phone into the pocket on his belt. I looked up, half startled by his sudden interruption, half hopeful that he had good news. He saw my expression and shook his head. "They're still following a trail."

I threw my hands in the air in frustration. "This is ridiculous! The guy was close enough to shoot Papa, why haven't they got him yet?" I pushed my bowl away, suddenly hit by my recurring thought about Papa. A flutter ran through my stomach. According to Bobby he was out of surgery and stable, but that didn't mean he was going to necessarily come through okay. If Papa lived, he might never be the same.

At that moment, Mama came through the door and sidled up beside me. "Can I speak to you in the hall?" she asked a little awkwardly, glancing at the men in the room.

I hesitated, trying to portray the awkwardness that I had been feeling toward Mama ever since the previous afternoon. I couldn't let Tank see how comfortable I had become around her over night. If he saw that, he'd probably catch on to something being up right away. "Um," I hedged, glancing at Tank for assurance. He gave a slight nod of encouragement and I glanced at Mama from under my curls. "I guess." And, looking back at Tank nervously, I followed Mama from the room.

Tank was watching curiously as we left, which was good, we needed him to be curious or the plan would never work. We also needed to keep in mind that he would probably be listening in to our conversation from inside. "What is it?" I asked when we were down the hall a little way.

"I need some..." Mama paused, looking at the ground. "things?" she tried. "I um, got my... ya know? And I don't have anything. I was wondering if you... did."

"Oh!" I breathed with what I hoped sounded like genuine realisation. "I dunno. I didn't bring anything with me; all I have is what was already here. I could go check..."

She gave me a grateful smile and stepped away a little so that I could get past. In planning this entire thing we realised that we had to look legitimate thanks to all the cameras positioned around the house. Probably there was audio in most of the rooms too. I know Rangeman provided a measure of privacy when it came to bedrooms and bathrooms, but I wasn't sure where the line was. It could be that they were recorded and only consulted when it was absolutely needed or it could be that they weren't monitored at all. I'd never thought enough to ask.

As I lead the way up stairs, Tank came out of the kitchen. "Everything okay?" he asked, looking directly at me, making sure I wasn't feeling too out of depth.

I gave him a tight smile. "Just a little... problem," I informed him.

"What kind of problem?" he asked. I wasn't sure if it was suspicion or concern that laced his tone, but I was going to go with concern for my piece of mind.

"It's... um... well you see..." I mentally slapped myself. This should have been easy. There were no boundaries to conversation topics with Tank. He'd told me about the freaking birds and bees, for pete sake. "Mama got her..."

"I got my period," Mama blurted. "And I don't have any tampons or anything with me. Magenta is just going to go check if she has any in her bathroom." The calmness of Mama's tone was something I envied. She didn't even sound nervous. Then again, I suppose she's done this kind of thing a few times over the years.

Tank nodded at the information and indicated for us to carry on. When I got to my bedroom door, however, I noticed that he had followed us up. _He's suspicious_, my mind told me,_ Don't worry. Just act natural. You can get through this._ I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, but as I reached for the doorknob I realised my hands were shaking. Potentially, this was a giveaway, however, if I played things right, he would just think it was due to Mama asking me for help and my worry for Papa. I lead them inside and went straight to the bathroom and began rifling through the draw of the vanity. I urged my hand to stop shaking as I pulled out the box I had noticed the night before and turned to hand it to Mama.

She took it with a small, thankful smile in place before looking down at the pack. Her face fell and I felt a weird sense of pride at her acting abilities. "I can't use this brand," she stated. "It gives me -," she glanced quickly at Tank as if remembering he was in the room. "I, uh, don't react well to it. Something about the materials they use." She held the box out to me. "Thanks though."

I widened my eyes, like the information was too much for me to hear in relation to my new found mother's personal area, and willed myself to blush as I took the box back and put it in the draw. Once the draw was closed, I avoided eye contact with either of them and nervously tucked a curl behind my ear. "Tank, is that all there is in the house?" I asked feigning embarrassment.

"It probably is. Ric didn't ever think any woman but you would see the inside of this house, and that's the brand you use, so it's probably the only brand in the house," he explained. "I could get Tom to go get you some," he offered Mama.

Mama shook her head. "I'd have to go with him," she declared. "I have to avoid certain... things..."

Tank wasn't buying it. "Just tell him the brand you usually use and he'll get it."

At this, Mama crossed her arms and glared at him. "You expect me to entrust my health in a man who doesn't speak English fluently?" She looked kinda scary when she did that. Her eyes flashed a little and I had to wonder if she did indeed have her monthlies. While we waited for Tanks answer she began tapping her toe on the tile and I shrank back a little until I was sitting on the closed toilet lid. "Well?" Mama demanded.

"I'll go get them myself," Tank said resolutely. "It won't be the first time. Tell me the brand and I'll go get them."

_This wasn't in the plan! Tank was going of script! We're doomed!_ The thoughts whirled through my head almost too fast for me to properly acknowledge them and I was glad I was already sitting down, because I may have fallen over if I hadn't been. The plan was to get Tom to drive us 'to the store for tampons,' but actually head all the way back to Trenton. Of course Tank would notice something was up when we took a few hours, but by then we'd been far enough away, hopefully, that he wouldn't be able to catch up. If Tank went and got Mama's tampons the plan was ruined.

"What if the store you go to doesn't stock the brand?" Mama countered. This was a possible up for us.

"Write down what it is you have to avoid and I'll find something suitable," Tank said easily enough. And my hopes plummeted once more. We really were doomed.

Without saying a word, Mama marched past Tank into my bedroom and grabbed up a pen and notepad from my desk. She paused a moment, staring at the pad with a thoughtful expression on her face and then began scribbling. "This is the brand I use," Mama said, showing Tank the page she'd just torn out. "But if they don't have it you have to avoid brands that contain this." She pointed lower on the page. "And this. But I need ones that have this and this."

Curious as to why she was pointing and saying 'this' rather than just telling him outright details, I looked over her shoulder. For a start, Mama's handwriting was almost impossible to decipher today, but other than that, most of what was written on the page were really long technical words I didn't think my tongue would allow me to even attempt to say.

Tank looked over at me with a I'm-glad-you-don't-have-specifications-like-these look on his face, then nodded to Mama. "I'll be back soon," he said and walked from the room. Out on the landing, he called down to Tom, who came to the bottom of the stairs at once. "I've gotta go run an errand," Tank told him, descending toward him as he spoke. "Watch them like a hawk. Don't let them out of your sight." Throwing a glance back to me and Mama as we stood on the landing watching him he added, "They're probably up to something."

Tom nodded obediently and started up the stairs toward us. "I will stick like adhesive to them," he stated solemnly. We all blinked once, translating his statement into better English before Tank nodded and left.

"I'm going to go have a bath," Mama said easily, moving back down the hall toward Papa's bedroom. I couldn't understand how she could be so calm and casual about this. The plan was completely ruined and she wanted to have a bath? My mind was in turmoil and I was beginning to think I shouldn't have trusted her after all.

I was staring after her, completely dumbfounded, when Tom's voice penetrated my consciousness. "I must watch," he said, causing both Mama and I to look at him in horror. "I am not to take eyes of you," he explained then.

"You're not watching me bath," Mama said. "That's disgusting."

"Then you shall keep door open half way. I be sure you not disappear." Mama seemed to consider this for a moment and then nodded her agreement before continuing toward the bedroom. Tom turned to me as Mama reached the door. I knew what was coming next, so I just rolled my eyes and followed after Mama. She was already in the bathroom with the water running when I entered the bedroom. Once again I was shocked with how she could possibly take a bath at a time like this.

I sat down dejectedly on the end of the bed and put my head in my hands. I really wanted Papa right now, I realised as a wave of disappointment washed over me. Mama was no help at all. She was probably happy that Papa was injured and probably going to die because it made the chances of her being able to take me back higher. I was fighting tears when Mama reappeared in the doorway still fully clothed and looked straight at Tom. "I need some help reaching the shower gel," she said to him. "It's on the top shelf of the cabinet." In answer, Tom simply nodded and entered the bathroom to help.

_Great._ _It looked like I was on my own._ I wondered if I could somehow make it out of here without either of their help, but squashed the idea as I remembered all the security measures in place. Least of which was the gate which required a code and gosh knows what else in order to make it open.

Lying back on the soft mattress, I gave in to the tears stinging my eyes. They were rolling silently down my face when Tom sat down on the edge of the bed next to me. I squirmed over a little on the bed to put some distance between us. No way did I want to be that close to a guy who had said he would help me but now was acting like no deal had been struck. Suddenly, the memory of what happened – or rather didn't happen – with Dad and then later with Tank sprinted through my mind. A sob broke free of my chest and I curled into a tight, protective ball. The only explanation was that I had imagined what went on last night. But then, why would I still have the gun I'd taken from the safe hidden under my pillow?

I don't know how long I lay there battling with which reality was real before I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Magenta?" came Mama's concerned voice. "Are you alright?"

"We're never gonna get out of here," I sobbed, unable to hold it back. "I'm ne-e-ever gonna see P-p-papa again," I wailed, shrugging away from her touch.

"What makes you say that, honey?" she asked, and I felt the bed dip as she sat down beside me. I was trapped. If I tried to move away from her, I would only move closer to Tom. I decided to stay where I was purely for the fact that she was my mother.

"He's go-onna die," I managed to get out between gasping breaths, feeling my chest tighten in fear of losing the one person who mattered most to me in the world. "And we're s-s-stuck h-here."

Abruptly, I found myself turned over onto my back and blinked my eyes open to see Mama staring down at me. She was blurry thanks to the tears still streaming down my face, but I could make out her stern expression. "Ranger is not going to die," she told me firmly. "I couldn't handle it if he died. Not like this. I haven't even had a chance to thank him for looking after you and ensuring you turned out so well." There was a hitch in her voice as she said the last sentence that made me realise that the stern thing was a cover for how scared she was. "Secondly, we're gonna get out of here. I promise." She swiped at the moisture on my face, gently clearing my vision and drying my face. "Now calm down so we can talk about this. How are we gonna get out of here?"

I coughed once and sat up, cross legged on the bed, staring at her with what felt like a huge question mark for a face. I thought once more about the gun under my pillow. Maybe it was real after all. One way to find out. "What do you mean?" I asked hesitantly.

"I mean, Plan A went out the door with Tank's utility belt," Mama explained almost exasperatedly. "We need a Plan B and we need it fast. I gave Tank enough complications to keep him in the store for at least twenty minutes, but I don't have the faintest idea of how far away said store is. We have a very small window of opportunity here."

"Oh thank gosh!" I said, throwing my arms impulsively around her neck. I could tell she was confused as she hugged me back, but didn't say anything. I sat back again after a moment and asked, "Is it safe to talk about this kind of thing? Isn't the house wired for audio as well as visual?" I directed this last part at Tom.

"Da," he said shortly. "This room safe."

!

Ten minutes later I was walking through the trees that lined the driveway, meandering my way to the front gate. Tom's Rangeman ID felt heavy in my pocket as I turned it over and over, fidgeting with it restlessly as I mentally recited the code Tom had given me. Hopefully, Scarecrow would be too distracted watching Mama to notice me drawing nearer to the gate. Tank had told Tom not to let us out of his sights before leaving and I could only assume he'd called Scarecrow and told him to be on high alert, so we were taking a huge risk here. I was to make my way to the gate, open it up and pretty much just start running while Mama created some kind of distraction that was 'guaranteed' to hold Scarecrow's attention. Once the gate was open, chances are some kind of alert tone would sound in the communications chamber and Scarecrow would immediately get in contact with Tom. Tom, having no other choice, would throw Mama in the second SUV and come after me. They'd pick me up down the road, but instead of returning to the house, we'd continue on home.

Meanwhile, Tank would have been contacted and informed of my escape act. He would rush back to the house to read me the riot act and find that we weren't there. Upon making this realisation, he would either call for the location of the SUV or call Tom to find out where he was and then, possibly, head out to look for me himself depending on the information he received.

This whole thing had a lot to do with timing an opportunity, and currently I had no idea if I had either on my side. I held my breath, swiping the card through the almost hidden slot on the side of the digital readout thing. The screen came to life and I quickly tapped in the code and waited for the light to turn from red to yellow before swiping the card again. A soft whine emanated from the machine. Tom hadn't mentioned anything about a soft whine. Was a whine good or bad? I quickly put the card back into my pocket and wandered a small distance away from the gate, trying to look casual in case Scarecrow was watching. When I turned my head slightly, looking back toward the gate, I finally let out the breath I'd been keeping in and ran.

* * *

_To see how successful Plan B is, please send reviews._


	55. Plan B

_First, let me apologise for leaving you all hanging like that. I never meant to. And truly, it wasn't my fault. I blame the weather. The floods I mentioned? BAM! Hit my home approximately twenty four hours after my last update. I believe I updated at two thirty in the morning on that Tuesday and by 5 that evening I was being evacuated from my home. The next day I went and check out the flooding to find that the lower level was completely under and there was a foot of water in the upstairs. Two days later started the clean up, saying goodbye to many cherished items that had not been high enough to avoid the damage. The house is pretty much gutted at the moment. Nothing inside but walls and things like that... and even a couple of walls have had to be knocked out. We're still waiting for everything to dry out properly so that we can start to rebuild. It looks like it's going to be at least another month. Hopefully I can update a couple more times in that time. Getting an internet connection that accepts this site is an absolute nightmare. I (along with my family) am currently staying with my grandparents in their two bedroom home. It's cramped and my grandmother refuses to let any of us help with the cooking and only grudgingly allows us to do our own washing and dishes. But it's a place to sleep with a roof over our heads, so none of us are complaining._

_On a happier note, it was my twenty-first birthday on Monday this week and I managed to have an absolutely lovely day._

**Chapter 55**

I was out of breath by the time the SUV pulled to the side of the road beside me. I climbed into the front seat beside Tom and Mama passed a bottle of water forward for me. We drove in silence while I wheezed and coughed my way back to a steady heart beat. Tom's cell phone went off just as I was breathing my first real deep breath and I immediately stopped breathing as he looked at the readout and grimaced. He passed it to me without saying a word.

"Perhaps you answer," he said when I just looked at the thing.

Typical Lost Boy. Afraid to face the consequences of his actions when I persuaded him to it. I steeled myself for a torrent and opened the phone. "Hi Tankie!" I said cheerily, despite the complete and utter dread that swept through my stomach as I held the phone to my ear. "What's up?" All I could hear was the sound of Tank's breathing. Probably, he was trying to calm himself down so that he didn't inadvertently let his rage out of me. Papa wouldn't take nicely to that, even though it was probably justified. "So how are you?" I asked.

"You're skating on thin ice, Magenta," he seethed. "Where the hell are you?"

My heart beat a little faster as I considered what kind of power Tank held over me at this very moment. Not a lot, but he could probably catch up to us in a matter of an hour if he broke speed limits and road rules. He could get away with that kind of thing with the police if he mentioned Rangeman and told a fib about an important security matter that he needed to get to. They did it all the time from what I heard. For now though, I was safe. I could say whatever I wanted to and have at least a little time before suffering the repercussions.

I glanced back at Mama, who was watching me anxiously. "Where are we?" I asked her.

She shrugged, giving me a peculiar look. "I've got no idea beyond in this SUV."

"We're in the SUV," I told Tank nonchalantly. "Where are you?"

"Put Tom on the phone," he snapped. I was definitely getting on his nerves. Which is what I did best at times. He should be used to it by now, but apparently no matter how many times you getting on someone's nerves they never get over it and just take it in their stride.

"He wants to talk to you," I told Tom, holding the phone out. Tom gave me the most hilarious look I could ever have imagined on his face. His eyes widened, nostrils flared and he shook his head adamantly from side to side without so much as glancing away from the road. Chuckling lightly, I brought the phone back to my ear and addressed Tank. "I don't think he wants to talk to you right now," I told him. "Probably he's afraid of what you'll do to him. Can't blame the guy really, I've seen you in action. It's kinda scary. And that was when you weren't angry. Imagine how demonish you'd be when you are!" As I finished my last question I realised I was talking to dead air. Shrugging it off, I slid the phone into the console beside the gear stick and turned in my seat so that I could see Mama without craning my neck.

"So what was your distraction?" I asked conversationally. "Must have been epic if Scarecrow didn't even notice that I was anywhere near the gate. That's the kind of thing Lost Boys usually notice."

Mama didn't reply straight away, and I had a feeling she wasn't going to reply at all. She was looking out the window at the passing trees when she murmured, "I'll tell you when you're older." With just that one short noncommittal statement I knew instantly that there was nudity involved. Partial or full, I wasn't sure, but there was definitely nudity of some sort.

I raised an eyebrow at her and turned my head to look at Tom who was concentrating on driving. "What if I asked Tom what you did?" I teased. "Would he tell me? Or have you sworn him to secrecy?"

"No secret swears," Tom said shortly. "But you respect Mother decision. I not tell you."

Glaring futilely at him, I turned back to face the front and crossed my arms over the seat belt. "You're a coward, you know that," I told him in a matter of fact way. "You should have more courage working for Papa. Don't you have to face death at every turn? That's what Lester always seems to say. And I mean, look at Papa right now." Against my will, my voice cracked as I said it.

Mama reached forward between the seats and caressed my arm. I could hear the emotion in her own voice as she tried to reassure me. "Everything is going to be all right." She squeezed my shoulder and I allowed myself to lean into her touch a little more. The fact of the matter is, she may have been absent most of my life, but she kept showing she cared and currently she was the only one who could possibly understand how I was feeling. If she felt even a scrap of what Papa felt for her then her heart was probably aching to see for herself that Papa was okay as well. Every time I thought about him I got a lump in my throat. "I promise you that nothing will come between you and your Papa," Mama continued and I was afraid to turn and look at her for fear of finding her in tears. "Not even me," she added.

The emotion in her voice was too much for me to handle. I could hear that she was trying not to cry and it just tipped my own waterworks into action. I didn't even hesitate to undo my seatbelt and climb back next to Mama. Tom may have had a small panic attack when he noticed I was moving, but he could get over it. Stoic and cautious was not what I needed right now. I needed love and reassurance. I didn't want to admit that I needed these things, and it felt weird to admit that I was thankful that Mama was there, but it was true. I don't think I would have survived in the house without her. I would have gone crazy. And the fact that she had helped me escape.

"I don't want to lose you either," I told her wet, salty tears flowing freely down my face as I hugged her tight around the chest. She hugged me back twice as hard and I felt like I was going to suffocate, but I didn't care. I needed her to know how much I had missed her as much as I needed to know how much she loved me. "Do you know how many nights I've laid awake wondering what it would have been like if you hadn't died?" My voice gave out as I said the last word, knowing that she hadn't really been dead. It hurt almost as much to know that she had been alive and not with me as it had to know that she was dead and could never be with me.

"I love you so much," she murmured into my hair, sounding as overcome as I was. I let my tears soak her t-shirt as my shoulders shook beyond my control. When I'd finally calmed down enough to breath normally again she rearranged us so that I was tucked into her side. "The moment I remembered you," Mama said softly. "I was so afraid of what could have happened that you would be taken away from me. All I had was Janelle and Diesel's word that you were safe and in good care. I had no idea where you were even."

Nodding, I looked up at her. "I know. Diesel told us the whole story."

With a sudden exclamation, she threw her hands in the air, almost hitting me in the head in the process. "I completely forgot about Diesel!" she cried. "He can get us there in a flash!"

My grin was instantaneous as I processed her words. "Literally," I agreed. "Tom, pass us your phone. You know his number?"I directed this last part at Mama as I reached forward for the phone. I wasn't paying attention to where my hand was going, but looking back at Mama for an answer. What I saw was a strange look on her face. "What is it?" I asked.

"I don't have his number," she said solemnly. "It's stored in my phone and I have no idea where that is at the moment."

"Tank has in locked box," Tom said, thrusting the phone into my hand, which had been groping blindly at the air around the gearshift. He glanced in my direction briefly and sent me a stern expression. "Put seat belt on."

I sighed and did as he said, handing Mama the phone at the same time. "You might want to go a little faster," I suggested to Tom. "Tank will be breaking rules to catch up to us. If we get far enough ahead it'll be more likely that he'll allow us to continue on." The car immediately sped up and I returned my attention to Mama. She was looking a little vacant in the face. "What are you thinking?" I asked her.

She simply shook her head, closing her eyes lightly and screwing up her nose as she handed me the phone again. "Call Ranger's parents," she murmured, hardly even sounding aware that we were there. "They need to know about their son."

My brow furrowed. "Tio Eloy is in Trenton," I told Mama. "Wouldn't he have let Abuelo and Abuela know what happened?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I remembered that the guys wouldn't necessarily have let him know. They obviously had other things on their minds, like catching the guy they were after. That and the fact that Tio Eloy wasn't exactly the most reliable person in the world. I decided to call them. If nothing else, it would be good to talk to them and let them know that I was alright.

It was several rings before the phone was picked up, but it wasn't either of my grandparents, it was Tia Celia. "Manoso residence, Celia speaking."

"Tia," I sighed, feeling a sense of steadiness wash through me just hearing her voice. She had that strength in her voice that Papa always exuded. It was reassuring. "It's Magenta."

"Gen, how are you?" She paused, obviously looking at the readout on the phone. "Where are you calling from?"

Automatically, I looked out the car window, trying to see any landmarks that I could recognise, but I shook my head after only a few seconds as I realised how futile it was. "I'm on one of the Lost Boys' phones," I informed her. "I'm in an SUV heading back to Trenton. Have you heard from anyone? Bobby? Tio Eloy?"

"No," she said immediately. "Why? What's happened?"

The lump that had been ever present in the past week or so was back again as I tried to get the words out. My first attempt was unsuccessful, but after a cough I tried again. "Pa-papa's been sh-shot," I managed. "I-in the stomach."

Before I could get anything else out she was yelling to rapid Spanish and then I had Abuelo in my ear. "Querida, what's happened?"

I quickly told him about Mama, the shooting, being sent to the safe house and finally about the phone call from Bobby last night. "So I organised with Mama and Tom and we managed to get out while Tank was at the store," I finished a couple of minutes later. "I don't think he's very happy about it, but I need to see Papa." Throughout my story I could feel Abuelo's ever infectious sense of calm swept over me and I found that it was getting easier to breathe. "I need to see for myself that he's okay."

"We'll be on our way there too," he assured me. "Keep your chin up, Querida. I'll see you soon."

"Adios, Abuelo," I replied, hanging up the phone and feeling a lot better for it. His strength had seeped into me even via the phone call and I felt that I could finally face what lay ahead. I turned to see what Tom and Mama were up to. Tom was concentrating very hard on driving, since he was doing probably twenty miles over the speed limit. Mama had her eyes squinched shut and her mouth screwed up. She looked like she was concentrating as well. "What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Contacting Diesel," she said and I almost laughed at how constipated she sounded, not to mention the fact that there was absolutely no way she could possibly contact Diesel simply by scrunching up her face and concentrating. I managed to stay silent though, feeling that any noise I made would distract the two adults from their respective tasks.

"We need to find a service station or a rest stop," Mama announced a few minutes later.

* * *

_Please, everyone, send in your reviews. They really do make my day when I read them. And if you're feeling it, go over to shreek and share the love, her house was worse off than mine. She went completely under and didn't have time to get anything much out. (She only lives a few streets away from me)._


	56. What the Blip?

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I was so happy to hear your wonderfully encouraging words. I special thanks goes out to my Dad's boss whom supplied Dad with a new work phone which can act as an internet modem/ wifi hot spot; and also my Dad for letting me use company internet for my fanfiction updating purposes. He knew how much it was killing me not being able to update. I actually finished writing the previous chapter about two weeks ago and this chapter a few days after that. I have another chapter waiting to be updated, but I don't believe in updating in bulk. Sorry guys =P. My house is officially dry. We just have to wait for the insurance assessor to give us the okay and then we can start in on rebuilding and stuff._

**Chapter 56**

I shook my head firmly at Mama's words. There was no way I was chancing going back to the house. I needed to get back to Trenton to see Papa. I needed to keep going. "We can't stop," I told her. "If we stop that gives Tank a chance to catch up. If Tank catches up he'll make us go back."

Mama took me by the shoulders and stared directly into my eyes for a good long minute. As she held my gaze I got a glimpse of what it might have been like to grow up with her as a parent. I somehow knew instantly that this look would have been the look I got every time I needed reassurance. Tank's stare could reef me from a state of panic in a single moment, but this stare Mama was giving me, it was like she was pouring pure, undiluted reassurance right into my heart and it was being pumped all the way through my body. In just a few moments I felt myself laying all my trust in this woman. It was the kind of trust that I only ever really felt for the Lost Boys and a handful of others. To me, that made this woman very special for a reason other than the fact that she was mother.

"I won't let that happen," she promised, and I felt her flowing her heart and soul into the statement. "You will be continuing on to see your Papa if it's the last thing I do."

In light of recent events, I felt my eyes widen at her vow at the same time my chest constricted. I'd only just found my mother, I didn't want to even joke about her dying. It would hurt too much to lose her so soon after finding her, and I haven't even had a chance to really get to know her and show her who I am. "Promise me it won't be the last thing you do," I demanded shakily, breathing thickly around my lump forming once more in my throat. I may have just had a surge of confidence from Abuelo moments ago, but the threat of losing Mama had used it all up quickly.

She shook her head and laughed a little. "Of course it won't be the last thing I do," she said. "Tank would have to face your Papa's wrath if anything happened to either of us." I nodded my understanding, thinking of the kind of wrath I knew Papa was capable of when he was dealing out vengeance. I'd seen people taken away on gurneys after Papa's fury was released on them. I chuckled a little as I pictured mammoth Tank on a gurney with a busted lip and a couple of broken bones. Then, abruptly as every other time it had popped into my head, I was remembering that Papa was in the hospital. It would be months until Papa was up to anything anywhere near whooping Tank's ass.

As my stomach did a nervous flip flop I nodded my head in solemn agreement with Mama and turned my attention to Tom, who was constantly glancing at me in his mirror, despite his continued speed limit disregard. "Is alright?" he asked. "You very pale of sudden."

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Get us to a service station."

He gave a short nod and returned his full attention to the road as he sped up even more. "I will take next exit," he informed us briskly, manoeuvring in and out of traffic as effortlessly as if he was moving between rows of desks in a classroom. I was immediately thankful that Papa's men were all so efficient and good at everything they did.

Tank's POV

I had been in the store only a few minutes before Scarecrow called me to say that Gen had escaped. This took me by surprise. I'd been expecting an attempt, no doubt, especially with how well she and Steph had ganged together the night before while demanding to be taken back to Trenton. What I hadn't expected was for either or both of them to have any success in the matter. The two women really were cut from the same mould, and with the kind of mini basic training Ranger had put Magenta through over the years and the tidbits of information she had picked up through years of just living in the Rangeman building, they were formidable.

I'd called Scarecrow in the communications chamber to make sure he was on high alert for any suspicious action specifically from the girls. Obviously, Magenta had managed to pull a swift on us all, as she had somehow gotten out of an air tight perimeter. I hadn't expected her to be able to achieve that even with her slightly devious mother helping her. When I called Tom for a progress report and Magenta answered his phone, however, I had the distinct feeling that he was helping them. I would have to give him a stern talking to and moderate beating when I finally caught up with them.

Speaking of which, I glanced at the tracking unit on my dashboard and noted that while I had been gaining on their position, I was now keeping a steady distance between us. This was not the plan. The plan was to catch up to them quickly and get the back to house before anything bad could happen to them. Ranger would have my head if he found out I had allowed something like this to happen. I should have been more cautious. I shouldn't have underestimated the pair of them as much as I obviously had.

At least I know better for next time.

As I glanced at the monitor again I noted that they were taking an off ramp that would definitely not lead them back to Trenton. I was immediately suspicious once more and pulled out my cell phone to try to get to the bottom of it.

On my first attempt, Tom's cell rang out. This was immediately concerning. Either something was very wrong, or they were in the middle of some master plan that was going to get me in even more shit. I tried again and Stephanie picked up on the ninth ring.

"Hi Tank!" she said, sounding falsely chipper. "How are you?"

I decided it would be best to cut straight to the chase. "Where are you going?" I asked, but it probably came off as a demand.

She took a moment to answer, probably consulting Magenta and maybe Tom on what she could and could not tell me. Finally she said, "We just need to make a quick stop."

"What kind of quick stop?" I asked suspiciously. There had to be a plan behind it all, I just had to try and figure out what. Better yet, I could probably try to work some answers from Steph. She wasn't exactly the most tight lipped person I knew. If nothing had changed in the last decade or so, I was hoping it was her easy to manipulate nature. "Are you all okay?" I asked, trying to dredge up a tone that sounded like I was concerned.

Again, there was a pause before she spoke. "We're all fine," she said slowly. "Except I need to use the ladies room. Tom is going to find me a service station or something where I can... ya know... do my business."

I rolled my eyes at the obvious lie and decided to razz her just a little. "How are your cramps?" I asked. "If I remember correctly you get crampy when it's that time of the month."

To my surprise, she hung up. Or perhaps it was Gen who hung up on her behalf before Steph managed to give away their plan. Gen had a good nose for sniffing out a rat. I'd used her talent a number of times within the office, but I never stopped to think that maybe she could use that gift against me if she ever felt the need.

The traffic had thinned a little since I first started out, so I took the chance and put my foot down a little more firmly on the accelerator. I was weaving in and out of cars when the tracking monitor on the dashboard suddenly let out a God awful screech, startling me so much that I nearly steered myself into a ditch. After regaining control of the vehicle I quickly pulled to the side of the highway to see what was wrong.

I felt my jaw fall open as I gazed at the screen. Two blips were there, at what I assumed was a service station. The SUV and Stephanie, but Magenta's blip was nowhere to be seen. Had they somehow managed to disable the tracking device Bobby had injected under her skin the day before? I didn't think it was possible, but I definitely could not see her on the map. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Especially not on my watch. I was good at my job. I was successful. Losing a teenage kid with a tracking device implanted in her arm is not what I call success. I had to find her before someone else noticed.

My phone rang.

Gritting my teeth, I looked at the readout. It was the Trenton control room. Probably, they were just calling to update me on their progress, I thought to myself. They'd caught the killer and he was back behind bars. That was all. It had nothing to do with my own latest dilemma. Ugh. Listen to me, I'm starting to sound like Magenta.

"Speak," I commanded as I opened the phone.

"Magenta's blip showed up at the hospital," Zero told me. "Should we be concerned?"

"The hospital?" I asked dumbly.

"In Trenton," he added. "I thought she was with you."

Blinking, I shook my head. "She was with me." This couldn't be right. I had to be dreaming. No way could she have made it all the way back to Trenton in a matter of seconds. She would have had to teleport... My thoughts trailed off as one thing occurred to me. "Diesel," I seethed.

"Diesel, sir?" Zero asked, confused.

"Diesel did it," I explained. "He popped her over to the hospital."

"I'm not sure I follow what you're saying," Zero said. "That kind of thing is impossible."

"Not for Diesel," I muttered. "Send two men over there to keep an eye on her I'll be there as soon as I can."

Genny's POV

As Tom searched for a service station Mama explained that while she could contact Diesel through thought – a very bizarre concept even for her apparently – he was unable to pop to her when she was in a moving vehicle. We needed to find a safe place to stop so that he could pop in and pop us out without anyone seeing. Upon hearing this, Tom had promptly turned into an abandoned garage. It never ceases to amaze me that these guys could find any and all abandoned buildings in the area no matter what. He then got out of the car and moved swiftly to the back door he'd parked next to. With a small shove the door opened easily and he motioned for us to follow him inside.

"Is okay?" he asked as Mama and I surveyed the inside of the building.

"It's fine," Mama said nodding. "Safe from prying eyes." She then closed her eyes and concentrated. A few seconds later Diesel appeared behind her left shoulder and she smiled. "On time as usual, I see," she murmured softly, turning to give him a hug.

Diesel, with his usual cocky grin, hugged Mama back and said, "Who could resist the call of a beautiful damsel in distress?"He tugged her auburn hair affectionately as he set her back from him and cast his eyes over her shoulder at me. "Two in this case, I see. How are you, Magenta?"

I rolled my eyes to mask how I really felt – desperate – and replied with a sarcastic, "Papa is in hospital in Trenton and I am in the middle of nowhere counting on your magic tricks to get me to him, how do you think I feel?"

"Overjoyed?" he ventured. "I'm here, afterall."

Now it was Mama who rolled her eyes, and she did it well. "Diesel, cut her some slack, she's really worried abour Ranger," she said, slapping him on the arm. "Get her to the hospital and come back for me."

I wasn't really sure about this, last time I'd been popped out of someplace and into another I'd thrown up. It really wasn't what I wanted to be doing at the moment. I had better ways to spend my time than hunched over expelling the contents of my stomach through my mouth. And even after the nausea had subsided I'd still felt a little dizzy. Papa needed me and he needed me to be strong for him because he couldn't be himself. It was kind of hard to be strong when you couldn't stand up without swaying.

"Relax, kiddo," Diesel said, coming over and laying an arm across my shoulders. "Place to place is way easier than Time to Time. I guarantee there will be significantly less nausea this time. And if I'm wrong, I'll let you kick me in the gonads."

I looked to Mama for reassurance. She smiled and nodded. "I haven't done Time to Time, but Place to Place isn't that bad," she informed me. "And as an added bonus, Diesel rarely lies about an offer to kick him in the gonads. He likes to try to prove he has balls of steel. Which I know to be false."

"Okay, that was unfair," he whined to Mama, "You were wearing pointed toed heels. How am I supposed to defend myself against what is essentially a blunt spear heading straight for my manhood?"

I was giggling at Diesel clear indignation when I heard a raspy chuckle from behind me. It was Tom. He was laughing too. "Is idiot man who claims to steel balls," he commented.

Diesel narrowed his eyes a little at him while he removed his arm from my shoulders. "Do you want to see your Papa or not?" he asked me, sounding sulky.

"Of course I do," I replied without thought. "Take me away."

The instant he grabbed my upper arm in his firm grip the world around me dissolved. I barely had time to acknowledge that there was darkness surrounding me before the bright lights of the hospital emergency entrance were assaulting my eyes. I wasn't underneath them, but I could see them a short distance away. I stood stock still for a moment, assessing my body's reaction to its sudden arrival in a new location. I was a little dizzy and I could use a drink of water, but other than that I was fine. Mama and Diesel were right, Place to Place wasn't as bad as Time to Time.

As I turned to thank Diesel for bringing me his phone went bananas, chirping out a heavy metal rock song. "I gotta get this," he said as he checked the readout. What followed was a series of uh huh's, yeah's, and finally an "I'm on my way." When he returned his attention to me he grimaced. "Sorry chickadee," he said. "I gotta run. Call your mother soon and tell her something came up and I had to go to Bangkok."

"Wait!" I called as he got a really intense look on his face, "Can't you tell her? Like, with your mind?" Wouldn't it go both ways? If she could speak to him over a long distance, shouldn't he be able to do the same?

"Ordinarily, yes," he said before adding quickly, "But I need to leave for Bangkok right now and there's a distance limit on mind communication. Just let her know later. You need to get inside." And before I could so much as draw a breath he was gone. Off to Bangkok or whatever.

I sighed and turned toward the emergency entrance, thankful to find that the glaring lights did not hurt my head this time. Despite the bustling activity I could see at the entrance, the air around me was surprisingly still and calm. The only sounds that reached my ears were the faint voices drifting across the lot. My peace was invaded the moment I stepped out of the shadows, however, as an ambulance came blaring up to the door with its siren wailing. The lights flashed before my eyes and I stood to the side just watching, momentarily lost in thought. _How would I be feeling, standing here if that was Papa or Dad in that ambulance? _Papa had been brought in in a similar fashion not even twenty four hours ago. It was a scary thought to say the least.

Once the calamity – both internal and external – had passed I made my way inside and to the nurse's station. A thin young man was seated at the desk, scribbling on a piece of paper as he held a phone to his ear. I stood there awkwardly while I waited for him to be free, examining his features. I decided he was very metro sexual, despite his scrubs. His hair was perfectly combed and his nails and facial hair well maintained. I would have said he was gay from his posture and gesticulations, but I didn't like to label people too harshly.

When he'd set down the phone he gave me a reassuring smile. Probably he did this to everyone who stopped by his desk, but it helped me maintain my calm and I was grateful for the gesture all the same. "How can I help you sweetie?" he asked, leaning toward me a little.

I pushed at a lock of hair that had fallen in my face and tried to keep the tremor from my voice as I voiced why I was here. "My Papa was brought in last night with a gunshot wound to the stomach," I inform him. "I'd like to see him if it is at all possible."

He nods his head with that same smile still in place and goes to his computer. "What was his name, honey? I'll look up where he is and point you in the right direction."

At that moment there was a disturbance at the doors. The rapid movement caught my attention in the corner of my eyes and I turned to see what was going on. A moment later I didn't know whether to groan or rejoice at the sight of who came through the door.

* * *

_And now we play a game of "Who's behind door number one?"! Who do you think it is? Review and let me know._


	57. Gaggle o' Geese

I know I said I had this chapter written already, but I had a better idea for the second half than I originally had, so I changed it. Which is why I didn't post yesterday or the day before. Here is the next chapter. I'll get the next one to you as soon as I've written it... maybe...

**Chapter 57**

Steph's POV

Twenty minutes had passed with no sign of Diesel by the time Tank caught up with us. I'd tried several times to contact Diesel via our mind connection, but it was like there was some kind of brick wall between us that I couldn't get past. I was starting to worry about Magenta and whether she'd made it safely to the hospital when Tank turned up and redirected my thoughts. I absolutely could not allow him to take me back to the Batcave. I had to convince him to let us continue on to Trenton. It was going to be a tough job, since he was completely irate the moment he turned off the SUV.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted at me as I came out of the warehouse. "Are you on some kind of a suicide mission? You could have gotten killed. You could have gotten us all killed. How did you even manage to get off the property?" He continued to rant while I stood there with my arms crossed, silently gathering the strength to do what needed doing. Finally, he ended with a confused sounding, "Where's Magenta?"

I didn't want to tell him, since I wasn't sure how he would take the news, but it was either me or Tom and Tom seemed as tight lipped as most other Merry Men I'd met. "She's at the hospital, probably visiting with her father," I said stiffly, hoping it was true.

"I know that," he snapped at me, rubbing a hand over his bald head. "What I want to know is _how _she got there."

Tom grunted at this statement and mumbled something that sounded like, _Ask question to know answers to. Look for answers to no question ask._ I completely concurred with those sentiments as I crossed my arms and glared at Tank with a 'Well?' look on my face. When he didn't ask the question to which he wanted the answer I sighed and rolled my eyes. "It was Diesel," I told him. "He popped over and popped her out and he was supposed to come back for me, but he didn't."

"I know that as well!" he almost yelled, throwing his hands in the air like I was frustrating him. Serves him right if I was though, since he was the one asking stupid questions. If he wanted to ask questions he already knew the answers to I was going to give him the answers regardless. He eyed me furiously after a moment, like he was expecting me to do or say something to irritate him more. It was highly likely given the circumstances, but I had nothing exuberant planned. My only goal at the moment was to get back to Trenton. "Your're not going back to Trenton," he said firmly, as if reading my thoughts – I wouldn't put it past him. "I'm taking you back to the house."

"Nah ah," I uttered, shaking my head from side to side. No way was I giving in to his every whim, even it if was Ranger's whim that he was channelling. I had made a reputation of being stubborn – and clumsy – back when I was bounty hunting. Over the last decade or so I'd been a formidable force in the secretarial circle. I was not going to throw all that away now simply because I'd made life changing discoveries and one of the people I loved most in the world was critically injured. "Either you're going to take me back to Trenton or you're going to fight Tom while I make off with one of the SUVs," I told him. I noticed Tom's expression change out of the corner of my eye, but did not bother to pay any more attention. "Which will it be?"

Tank cast an eye briefly to his fellow Merry Man in a questioning glance. Whatever he saw there made him sigh. "You let them manipulate you, didn't you?" he asked, disappointed. "I've drilled it in to every one of you that you cannot give into Magenta's demands without checking with either Ranger or me first. Why is it that without fail each one of you forgets this at some stage?"

I chuckled a little, trying to dredge up an image of my daughter as a young child sneaking off to one of these burly men in an attempt to get her way. I couldn't have taught her better myself. The amount of times I'd played Merry Man against Merry Man in order to get out of a situation. I shook my head and commented, "To be fair, we double teamed him."

Tom shook his head at this. "I help of free will. Happy make for girl and mother." He placed a large paw-like hand on my shoulder. "Remind me of sister and niece in home country."

"Free will, huh?" I asked with a small smile. "What about the gun we pointed at your face?"

Tank immediately rounded on me. "Where did you get a gun from?" he demanded. "Who was holding it? Was it you or Gen? Do you realise how risky it is to point a gun in someone's face? What would have happened if Tom had reacted on instinct alone and turned the gun on you? He wouldn't have hesitated to pull the trigger if he felt threatened."

As he paused to pull in a breath, I stifled the giggles that threatened to break loose at the sight of worried, hysterical Tank and answered his questions swiftly. "The safe in Ranger's bedroom. Magenta. Yes, I realise how risky it is. And you answered your own question."

Both Tom and Tank started talking at once so all I heard was a jumble of words that didn't make sense. As they glared at each other I moved over to the line of garbage cans lined against the outside of the building and sat on top of one. The past few days had been tiring on their own, a mix of interrupted sleep, worry, fear, sickness and shock. On top of it all, I'd barely slept a wink the night before as I contemplated the plan and its likelihood of working, along with Ranger and how he was holding up. I had so much I needed to thank him and Morelli for, but I couldn't do that if he died before I had a chance.

As I thought of Morelli I wondered how he would take the news that I was, in fact, alive and well. Would he be grateful? Would he feel betrayed? I had no way of knowing until I actually spoke to him, but I felt I could prepare a little by asking Magenta about him. He was her guardian, after all, and she would know a thing or two about his reactions to certain events. If I had a bit of a gauge to work with I might be able to approach it better for a calmer reunion.

"Look guys," I said loudly to regain their attention. "As much as I love listening to the two of you arguing, I have places I need to be. Like with my daughter. The one that I haven't seen in thirteen and a half years. And whose Papa is in the hospital. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to just jump in this here SUV and program it to take me back to Trenton."

The two men gave me a look that told me I was probably going insane if I thought they would let me go alone at a time like this. Which I didn't. What I thought was that if I made like I was going to leave without them, they would actually make a move rather than stay here.

"You can't go alone," Tank said and the look on his face made me think that he had to say this kind of thing a lot. I began to wonder what kind of person my daughter was when she wasn't freaking out because of what I say during my freak outs. So far I had noticed a few of my own mannerisms in her: the eye rolling and the 'Burg glare in particular. "And you can't go back to Trenton," Tank added, interrupting my thoughts.

That had me right up in his ever intimidating face. I could handle being shipped off for my own safety. I could handle being kept out of my daughter's life for her safety. I could even handle everyone telling me that I agreed to the whole deal before it went down. What I could NOT handle, though, was these guys trying to separate me from said daughter when she needed someone to be there for her. I may not have been there for her through all her trials thus far in life, but I wanted to be there for her now. Damned if I was going to be kept away from her just because Tank said I should go back to the Batcave.

"You're taking me back to Trenton," I seethed, giving him my best glare. "And you're not going to complain. And you're going to just deal with any consequences that may come your way because of it. Got it?" With an almost audible gulp, he nodded his head and headed toward his SUV. Tom headed to the other at a fast clip, not daring to look back. "By the way," I added, feeling the need to further show my power over them. "The gun wasn't loaded."

Tom made no noise to acknowledge that he had heard what I'd said, but Tank groaned and leaned his head against the car. "You're killing me here, Steph," he told me as I sauntered over. "That was reckless, but I should have seen it coming from you."

"Some things never change," I commented, climbing into the front passenger seat and buckling up. Once Tank was in the driver's seat and manoeuvred the car back onto the highway, I turned to him and asked, "Will you tell me about my daughter?"

Genny's POV

"Magenta Anne Plum," Grandma admonished the moment she laid eyes on me. "Why is it that your father was hurt and I had to hear about it from his employees? Hmm?" She stood stock still in the middle of the emergency room with her hands planted firmly on her hips. Her entire persona screamed that she was a) disappointed and b) fed up with it. I could maybe understand the disappointed part, since I really should have called them instead of obsessing about going behind Tank's back to get to Papa, but fed up? She was acting like this type of thing happened every other week. Which it certainly didn't. Papa had never been hurt like this. Nor had I ever not informed her something really big in my life. "To make matters worse," she said, clearly taking my silence as her cue to continue. "The moment I hung up with Lackey Number 2375, your Abuela called. Also informing me that your father was in hospital. I called Joseph and he didn't know either. Nor did your Nan." She screwed up her nose then and I knew instinctively what would come out of her mouth next. "Bella claimed to have just had a vision about it when we knocked on her door to inform her."

"Don't screw up your nose, young lady," scolded Nana Bella as Nan wheeled her through the doors. "You've always doubted my gifts."

Grandma sighed. "I don't doubt them, Bella," she said patiently, "I just think it's convenient when you claim to know about something after you've been told about it. Or when you suddenly have another vision the moment the original falls through. How many of your visions have actually come true?"

Nana Bella was glaring at the back of Grandma's head because she refused to turn around. If I had done that kind of thing to Grandma she would have grounded me for the entire weekend. Wasn't it rude not to look at someone when you were talking to them?

"It sounds like doubt to me, Helen," came a familiar voice from behind Nan and Nana. It was Great Gran. I knew this, because all the injured people waiting around the room subtly turned away, some even shuffling away, trying to put distance between themselves and the notorious Edna Mazur. They say curiosity killed the cat. They also say cats have nine lives. I was under the impression that if this was true Great Gran was some kind of super cat. Curiosity certainly hadn't killed her yet, though some say it should have by now. And I'm sure, if he had died from curiosity, she would be on more than her ninth life.

Great Gran was about a thousand years old, had the hearing of a bat, and eye sight to match. It amazed me how much I could she could hear over the blaring of her daytime soaps, especially since she positioned her chair so close to the set. She once heard me whispering on the phone in the kitchen during a particularly loud argument on the screen. You'd think that a thousand years of life would slow you down at least a little, right? Not this one. Sometimes the only way you could tell that Great Gran was older than Grandma was the amount of wrinkles they had. Grandma seemed to have more difficulty getting around at times. Her hips seized up and stuff like that. Great Gran, on the other hand, fairly bounded up and down their front steps. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but she certainly wasn't a shuffle along kind of woman.

All my grandmothers began bickering with each other, prompting me to sigh and turn to the nice nurse with a forced smile. "His name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso," I informed him quietly.

He nodded and tapped on the computer keyboard on his desk. "Are they all yours?" he asked, indicating my grandmothers behind me. I made an affirmative noise. He nodded again, thoughtfully this time. "Plum, Morelli, Manoso..."

"I know what you're going to ask, and trust me, it's waaaaay too complicated to go into right now," I said, stifling a groan.

His eyes twinkled as he looked up at me. "You're Stephanie Plum's daughter, aren't you?" he asked. I simply nodded, glancing over my shoulder to ensure that they were all still preoccupied. "She's kind of a legend around here," he said.

I gave him a tight little smile. Why was he delaying me? Why couldn't he just point me in the right direction so I could temporarily escape the crazy? "From what I hear she's a legend pretty much everywhere in this town. I've heard stories about what she used to do."

"Must be hard for you to hear all these stories and not be able to know what she was like in person," he commiserated.

The statement immediately struck me as wrong. Of course it did. My mother was alive. I'd just left her. But then I remembered that not everyone knew that. I wondered what all these admirers would do when we finally revealed that she was alive and well and back in Trenton. Well, not currently, but she would be eventually. Speaking of which, I needed to call her.

I reached for my pocket where I habitually kept my cell phone before I remembered that it had been taken from me. As I paused in my actions I met the nice nurse's gaze. "Would you mind if I quickly borrowed your phone?" I asked.

I never got a reply. He was too busy gazing adoringly over my shoulder. I rolled my eyes. I knew that look. It was the look half my friends had when I turned up somewhere with my Lost Boy escort of the day. They would then drool over them most of the day. Ask me all about them. Which one did I think was the hottest? Which one was my favourite? Would any of them be interested in going out with a fifteen year old? What was it like to be able to gaze at all that muscle whenever I felt like it?

My answer for the most part? "_EWW!"_ Sure, I could appreciate that they were well built with fine structure and all that jazz, but these guys were practically my uncles! I'd grown up with half of them. Others were newer additions to the company. I didn't know them as well as the senior employees, but I hung out with them enough that I thought of them as a massive group of older brothers or cousins. They were like family. Mostly. And it was weird to even contemplate them in that way.

A hand came down on my shoulder. I glanced at it, noting the crisscrossing scars. I didn't immediately recognise it, but it reminded me of one of the guys' faces. "Demon?" I guessed. And then, because I felt certain that if I was right he wouldn't tell me – why would he? He never talks – I spun around to face him. The same crisscrossing scars laced across his face as he stared me down steadily. "Hi!" I said cheerily. "How ya doin'? I see the chain has been detached from your leg." He quirked an eyebrow in question, which totally sucked, because it meant I needed to explain my joke and they were never as funny when that happened. "They let you away from the reception desk," I stated then looked down at his company issued cargo pants. "I thought the secretary of the month was supposed to wear one of those pencil skirts and stockings."

While Demon glared at me, I heard a chuckle from behind him. I side stepped around him, idly brushing of his hand in the process. "Carter!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be helping catch the bad guy."

He sent me a smile and ruffled my hair_._ "I got a call from Zero. Said he was told to send two guys over for Gen Watch. Given the situation he made the executive decision that it should be at least one person you were comfortable with." Carter glanced at Demon, whom I assume was still glaring at me for my skirt comment. "I have a feeling that it would be me." He looked at me like he was analysing my posture and body language, which he probably was. "How are you holding up?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm okay at the moment. I haven't seen him yet."

Without hesitation, he pulled me into a hug. A lot of the Lost Boys were afraid to touch me. Whether it was because they feared they would break me or they feared invoking the wrath of Papa, I could never be sure, but it was refreshing when I found one who was seemingly fearless in that respect. "I'm here for you," Carter said squeezing me tightly.

"Remind me to thank Zero," I murmured into his chest.

_I was hugging Carter_! I thought. But the strange thing was, it wasn't awkward or anything. And I wasn't thinking of him as a romantic interest. Somehow over the last day or two he'd gone from someone I was crushing on to someone I was happy simply to have in my life. It could have been the fact that he'd ruffled my hair and I had trouble thinking of hair rufflers romantically. Or it could have been a subconscious thing that came from the fact that he'd been promoted to the core team, which meant he was likely to be with us a long time and if I ever confronted him with crush like feelings I'd then have to deal with seeing him on a regular basis after he inevitably turned me down. I think it was a very grown up decision to no longer acknowledge those feelings. Plus it would be weird after the hair ruffling.

Behind me, the nice nurse cleared his voice, regaining absolutely _everyone's _ attention. I turned around to face him, Carter and Demon stood to attention and my grandmothers stopped bickering. The nurse guy gave us a pleasant smile and gestured to a hall on his right. "Mr. Manoso's room is at the end of the hall. I'm afraid I can only allow two people to enter at a time."

We all looked at each other then, trying to work out who would accompany me in. It was obviously a given that I would be the first to go in, but I didn't want to go in alone and they probably all knew it. I glanced from face to face, trying to make a decision that was downright impossible. Before I could say anything, however, they burst into another round of bickering. Carter and Demon stood to the side watching the calamity carefully in case they had to step between the old ladies and break it up if things turned physical.

Nobody was paying attention to me.

I sighed and shook my head, moving swiftly past the throng of people to the corridor that would lead to Papa's room. I steeled myself when I reached the door at the end, knowing that Papa was behind it, but not knowing if I was ready to see him. I took a deep breath and reached out to grasp the handle.

"I'm here for you," Carter murmured, close behind me. I jumped, though I shouldn't have been surprised. Carter noticed _everything_, of course he followed me when I left.

* * *

_As always, I ask that you send in your reviews and let me know how I'm doing. Also, any suggestions for future events within the story will be thoroughly considered._


	58. Awake

_Sorry it's taken me so long, guys. Things have been kinda crazy! I would have had this two you yesterday or the day before but I've been away on a choir retreat which allowed for next to no free time, despite the fact that I already had this chapter finished in my head and all I had to do was find an hour or so to type it all up. *sigh*. But the point is, it's here now for your enjoyment. I hope..._

**Chapter 58**

Ranger's POV 

_Beep._

Over the rushing and roaring of waves all around me – inside me even – came a familiar sound. It wasn't right. Since when did the ocean beep? I ignored it and went back to my floating. It was surprisingly relaxing, floating. I thought it would have been at least a little concerning, considering there should have been gravity or something that would pull me back down. But no. I was floating. And quite enjoying it.

_Beep. Beep._

There it went again. Louder this time. Or was it that the waves were softer? Who knew? It was an annoying sound though. I'd heard it before and it always got on my nerves. In fact, the whole beeping ocean thing was definitely giving me a sense of déjà vu. It was enough to make a man wonder if waves really did beep. Maybe I'd been floating in the nothingness so long that everything had been updated to digital. You know, like digital TV? Digital waves. Maybe the battery life of the waves was running out. I wonder what digital waves felt like...

_Beep. Beep._

_Mooooaaaaann._

The waves were definitely receding now. And it seemed like there were clouds leaving as well. Clouds that had been enveloping my mind. My senses. Mental clouds. Mental as in clouds in my mind... not mental as in psychologically impaired clouds. How would you tell the difference between a regular cloud and a psychologically impaired cloud anyway? The image of a cloud wearing a straightjacket filtered through my mind. It had a dopey expression and kept kind of drifting out of the opening at the neck before being sucked back in. The thought made me want to giggle. Ludicrous thought. Instead I pictured the cloud giggling. It seemed to do the trick.

_Beep. Beep._

_Mooooaaaaann._

_"-wake?"_

What? What was that? I batted the demented cloud away and tried to focus on. It was hard work. Just getting rid of the cloud seemed to take forever. It was like trying to grab at smoke with bare hands, but worse, because it was all in slow motion and I kept floating away from it. Frustrated at the lack of progress on the cloud batting, and tired from the efforts it had taken to get as far as I did, I decided to stop for a nap.

_Beep. Beep._

_Mooooaaaann._

_"-king up."_

That infernal beep just would not rest. I was starting to feel the pull of gravity. It was a new experience after spending... how long had I been floating? I had no idea. With a sigh, I opened my eyes. Just a crack. But enough to be assaulted by the sun. In the next instant I had squinched my eyes shut in an effort to avoid the bright, bright light streaming into my face. This all felt very, very familiar. Like I'd been there before. What did you call it when you had that sense of repeating yourself? Who cares?

I cracked my eyes open once more. Slowly this time and as I took in the sun shining above me, surrounded by a white sky, I realised that it wasn't the sun at all. It was a light. With a crash I landed on the bed. Gravity taking a good hold of my limbs as I jerked from the impact. I let out another groan as the action sent a bolt of pure, white hot pain through my middle. _What the hell?_

"Papa?" a girls voice penetrated my thoughts as I tried to work out what was wrong with me. Had I landed on something sharp that pierced my flesh? No, it didn't feel right. It felt worse. "Papa? Are you awake? Can you hear me?" I tried to move my eyes to see where the voice was coming from, but the action made my head hurt, so I cautiously allowed my head to loll to the side. That hurt too. "Papa?" the girl said. Her face was right in front of mine, but I couldn't make out her features.

A sensation ran up my arm from my hand, making it twitch. I continued to gaze at the girl though. It seemed vitally important that I make out her features. I needed to know who it was. Assess the threat level. My vision cleared a little and I noticed a furrowed brow. A familiar crease between the eyebrows. Lowering my gaze a little I took in the bright blue eyes filled with worry.

"Babe," I moaned, trying to sit up. "What are you doing here?" Wasn't she supposed to be dead? Oh crap... Was I dead? Was this some kind of heaven? It must be heaven if my Babe was here.

"Don't move, Papa, you'll hurt yourself more," she whispered and I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulders as she pushed me more firmly into the mattress. "I was so worried about you," she continued. "All I could think from the moment Tank told me was that our last conversation wasn't exactly the most pleasant, and I didn't get to say I loved you and..." I tuned out. I couldn't keep up with what she was saying to begin with. Add the fact that there was a niggling thought in the back of my brain and there was no way I could possibly pay attention. Something she had said seemed off, but I couldn't put my finger on it no matter how hard I tried. At this point I wasn't even sure I had fingers.

"Papa, please don't be mad at me," she pleaded when I tuned back in. There was something about her voice, a certain tremble, that triggered a protective instinct in me. I wanted to take her in my arms and make all her worries go away. "I had to do it. I couldn't just sit around in that massive house twiddling my thumbs while you lay in hospital. I had to know that you were all right. I had to..." My attention swayed again, but was brought back to her when she said, "Papa?"

That was it. That's what had been bugging me. She called me Papa. My Babe wouldn't call me Papa. Papa was what you called a father figure. The girl must have confused me with her own father.

I felt that sensation in my hand and up my arm again, but fought against the resultant twitch. I focused on the sensation. Craning my neck to see what was happening. My neck wouldn't support my head, and I ended up plopping back onto the pillow, but not before I caught a glimpse of a hand grasping my own. It was small and delicate. The girl.

Staring into her face once more, I recognised some features but others were just wrong. She bore a striking resemblance to my Babe, but her skin was darker amongst other things. It confused me. All I could manage was, "I'm not your father."

She gave me a half smile and I watched a fat tear roll down her cheek as she rolled her eyes. "I know you're not my father," she said, exasperated. "But you'll always be my Papa. No matter what. You promised me that. Remember?" I tried to recall such a conversation, or even ever having seen the girl before. She was silent, allowing me to think and I was grateful for it. Multitasking was entirely too difficult. "Papa?" she prompted after a few moments.

With a slight shake of my head, I turned to take in more of my surroundings. I couldn't believe how ignorant I had been thus far. It was the girl that distracted me. If she weren't there spinning lies about me being her Papa I would have already assessed the area for signs of danger. As my head moved my eyes were about a step and a half behind, noticing things after they were already gone. Everything I saw pointed toward me being in a hospital. But why? "What happened?" I asked hoarsely.

"Here," she said, poking a straw at my mouth. "Drink this, you'll feel better." I turned my head away to avoid it. I had no idea who this kid was, but I wasn't going to risk her trying to poison me. "Papa, please, it'll sooth your throat. You're hurt enough I don't want you to do yourself more harm by scratching up your voice." She was pleading, which usually was not a sign of an attacker, but I couldn't be sure.

"No," I managed, still facing away from her.

As I stared that way a man stepped into my line of sight. He wore all black and a concerned expression. Stopping a couple of feet away, he told me, "Sir, you really should drink the water. She's right, it'll lubricate your throat and minimise your chances of doing damage."

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"Carter Woodlock, sir. I'm a new recruit. Tank fast tracked me to the core team after I helped recover your daughter the other day." He sounded proud of himself, but he got so many details wrong. Tank would never fast track a newbie. And I didn't have a daughter.

"I don't have a daughter," I informed him, coughing with the effort of speaking. When I recovered he was sending worried looks over to where the girl was. I pushed that to the back of my brain – easily done at this point in time – and asked the question that popped in my mind. "You work for me, boy?"

With wide eyes, he returned his attention to me just as I heard the door click shut. "Yes, sir," he stated firmly. "As of a month ago."

I nodded shortly, though given that I felt no pain in the action, it was a miniscule action. "Let's see some ID then," I demanded, still croaky. He quickly pulled out his Rangeman issue ID card that doubled as greater access key fob and showed me the photo. It looked legit. "You swear there's no poison in that water?" I asked. Now it was his turn to give a short a nodded before he moved around the bed to where the girl had left the cup. The girl was no longer there. "Who is she?" I asked, knowing that he would know who I was talking about.

Carter Woodlock held out the cup with it's straw positioned so that I only had to move the tiniest amount and cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. He was awkward about what he was about to tell me. "She's your daughter, sir," he said. "Well, um, she's your ward. You and Officer Morelli."

Rather than get angry at the suggestion that I had a child with the cop I felt myself being pulled down into a dark blankness and then I was floating again.

Abuela's POV

I knew the instant I arrived that something was wrong. My baby nieta was scrunched in a corner of the hallway crying big fat tears while some boy – presumably one of my son's men – rubbed her back. Every now and then her shoulders would jerk with a sob. My chest constricted at the sight. I made a beeline for her, ignoring everything and everyone else in the area, I was just a few feet from her when Angie Morelli grabbed my arm, holding me back.

"She doesn't want any of us," she informed me coolly. "She's only allowing the boy because he endured her tantrum. And it was quite a tantrum, copped him in the face a time or two with enough force to make a good sound." I was shocked to find that she was actually smirking by the end of her statement, as if the boy deserved what he'd gotten. Anyone could tell that he would never harm her in a million years.

I felt Celia come up behind me, her height towering over Angie. "What's the hold up?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and looking so much like her younger brother it was almost laughable. "My niece is right there, her world falling apart and I intend on at least trying to comfort her instead of sitting off to the side doing crossword puzzles." She eyed the pen and booklet Angie was holding and scoffed. "Oh, my mistake," she went on. "Not good enough for crosswords. You're doing word finds!" And then she must have noticed Angie's other hand which still gripped my forearm because she added menacingly, "Unhand my Mama!"

Coming up behind her, Marco laid a gentle hand on Celia's shoulder. He was the picture of calm, as all men learned to be when involved with the Manoso family, but his piercing grey eyes were trained on Angie in warning. She immediately let go of my arm and I surged forward, intent on reaching Magenta. Carlos was already there, his arms wrapped around her tightly, allowing her to simply sag against him and cry.

The boy, I noticed, was standing a respectful distance away, arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the crowd in the hall. His dark eyes were alert and intense as he watched carefully. When he met my gaze it felt like he could literally read my thoughts. Clearly this was one of Ricardo's best. Why else would he have been selected to guard his daughter? It wasn't a job for just anyone.

I approached him and silently indicated that he should follow me down the hall away from the crowd. He did so without question, standing silently as if awaiting orders. I wasn't about to order him around. It wasn't my place, but I did need some answers and he seemed like the best person to give them to me.

"What's happened here?" I asked him, trying for a gentle tone. Ultimately, it wouldn't have mattered, given that he was probably used to people barking orders at him. It was nice to try though.

"Mr. Manoso has been shot, ma'am," he said obediently. "Once in the stomach once in the flesh of the thigh. The main concern at this stage is-."

I huffed out a breath as he continued to speak. This wasn't what I wanted to know. Something had gotten to my strong willed Magenta and crumbled her to bits. "I know all that, boy," I told him sternly. "I want to know about my nieta." He looked at me with incomprehension written all over his face. Clearly his knowledge of Spanish did not extend very far. "My granddaughter, fool! What's happened with my granddaughter."

Blinking rapidly, he replied with only a little astonishment. "Of course. Magenta. You're her abuelo?"

I snorted. "Abuela," I corrected.

He mumbled something I didn't catch but then ploughed ahead. "She's stricken at the moment ma'am. The stress of seeing her father in such a condition has broken her spirit temporarily." When he paused I stared at him, giving him my son's _elaborate_ look. With a nod shortly he continued to speak, and surprisingly, he seemed to have all the answers. "I suspect it was the Boss's inability to recognise her that tipped her over."

"What do you mean?" I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest. I may be old, but I could still whoop some ass if it was deserved, just ask Eloy. "He didn't recognise her?"

"Yes ma'am," he stated. That was beginning to get on my nerves. It was as if I had a bunch of army officers on leave in my house all over again. "He awoke about an hour ago and claimed he didn't have a daughter. That he wasn't Magenta's father."

Of course he did. Leave it to my son to obtain memory loss, temporary or otherwise just when his daughter needs him the most. If this had been twenty years ago with any other girl I would have slapped him upside the head –injured or not – for using a convenient excuse to get out of fatherhood. But I knew how much he loved Magenta. I knew how it ached in his heart when she felt guilty for taking up so much of his time, knowing that there was no biological connection. It was insanity, really. How the girl could think that Ricardo would want to do anything _but_ tend to her every need was beyond me.

Shaking my head, I abruptly turned from the boy and marched down the hall to my son's room. Without so much as a pause, I pushed open the door intending on giving him a mouthful, but I stopped dead in my tracks at what I saw: A little old lady stood at the edge of the bed, slowly lifting the sheet off his lower middle. It was clear by her purple sweat pants that she was no nurse. I knew almost instantly after that realisation the only person in the world that it could have been.

"How's he looking?" I asked quietly from the doorway. "Is he healing okay?"

The woman jumped clear out of her skin and spun around. "Ain't nothin' to see under there, no sirree," she said defensively. "I was just gonna make sure he still had all his..."

"Mother!" came a familiar voice from behind me. "What did I tell you? You're not to go into Ranger's room without someone else present. That's how law suits and restraining orders are formed"

Ranger's POV

It seemed like only a moment later that I became aware of voices around me once more. They were familiar and irritating. Almost as irritating as the beeping had been last time I surfaced. They were all women from what I could hear not at all happy. As I listened to the wordless speech I began to pick up patterns in tone just like when I was listening to a foreign language.

_Beep. Beep._

I groaned allowed as that noise filtered into my consciousness. Stupid bloody hospitals. As soon as the groan left my throat all other sounds in the room ceased.

_Beep Beep._

Except that.

Suddenly there was a very stern voice right beside my head and I could understand clearly every word she said. She knew I would, too. She'd always known I would hear and understand everything she said if she whispered it right beside my ear as I was waking up. In fact, when I was a child she would use that knowledge to send subliminal messages to get me to do my chores. Evil, but effective. I admired her for the ability.

"What have you done, Ricardo?" she whispered in Spanish. "What a mess you have made."

I opened my mouth to reply, at least I thought I did. It's hard to tell when your tongue feels like sandpaper. When my voice didn't work I opened my eyes and looked directly into hers. When I simply grunted in an effort to make some kind of noise, she sighed and held a straw to my lips. I took a few slow sips, just enough to lubricate my mouth and throat so that I could speak.

I was about to tell her how it wasn't my fault I'd been shot this time, but scenes flashed through my head. Events I barely remembered. Things I hoped were merely dreams. They couldn't possibly have occurred. Not when Magenta was a few hours away in a safe house. _My_ safe house. Right?

With a deep gulp, I returned my attention to my mother. "Magenta," I said hoarsely. "Where is she?"

She gave me one her looks and shook her head. "Oh," she uttered. "_Now_ you deign to remember her. Well done, hijo. Well. Done." It wasn't often that my mother stooped to sarcasm, but when she did, she did it well. And it was almost always when I'd done something wrong or caused something terrible to happen. No comfort came from her condescending tone. Only a fear for what I could have done to my Genny-Babe. My pride and joy.

"Where is she?" I repeated with a little more urgency but the same amount of hoarseness. "Is she alright?"

* * *

_You didn't really think I was going to give Ranger memory loss, did you? That's just silly! Don't forget to review!_


	59. Bahm BAHM BAAAAHHHHMMM!

_Okay, for the past few days (I can't keep track anymore) I've been battling with a serious bout of Writer's A.D.D. At one stage I feared it was near fatal. I couldn't spend more than five minutes on a particular story! So after dividing my time ceaselessly between this fanfic, my IAD shorts and two or three originals that suddenly sprang back into mind after about a year of inactivity, I've finally managed to put together enough to call a chapter. _

**Chapter 59**

I'd had nightmares on and off throughout my life in which Papa had disowned me in various ways. They had freaked me out every time because I didn't think I could live without Papa, but every time, I would wake up and scream for him and he would reassure me that it was just a dream and nothing bad would happen to me. He would hug me to his chest and murmur softly in Spanish and eventually I would fall back to sleep. Now more than ever, I longed for Papa's strong arms wrapped around my shoulders. His head resting atop my own. He breath in my hair as he whispered soothingly to me. I wanted so much for him to tell me that it was just a dream and that nothing could possibly happen to me. That he loved me more than anyone could imagine. That I was his daughter. He was my father – biological or not, it didn't matter. I just needed my Papa.

Diesel had dropped me at the entrance of the hospital an hour or so ago and I was starting to regret ever leaving the safe house. Papa made it obvious that he wasn't happy that I was there. I'd completely screwed up this time. Papa was angry with me. So angry he was denying being my father. I could handle simple anger that I hadn't followed orders and stayed where I was safe, but renouncing me was like taking a stab at my heart. I couldn't handle his rejection. It came too soon after the horror scene with Mama in the command centre where she demanded to take me with her.

I was starting to get the feeling that I'd lost control of my life.

After Papa had claimed I was not his daughter, I'd fled his room, heading swiftly for the ladies washroom down the hall. No sooner had I turned the lock on a cubicle door than there were footsteps in the outer area. Two sets. I sniffed back the snot that was threatening to coat my upper lip if I let continue to ooze out and swiped the tears from my cheeks just as a knock sounded on the cubicle door.

"Magenta?" Grandma called softly. "Is everything okay?"

I thought about replying, but all I could manage was a hiccup as a new wave of grief washed over me. More like crashed into me. I sat on the lid of the toilet and pulled my knees up to my chest, hugging them tightly, wishing they were Papa.

"Gen?" came Grandma's gentle voice again. "Honey, why don't you come out and talk about what's wrong?" Even though I knew she couldn't see me, I shook my head. It was all I could do. My throat felt like it had completely closed over, breathing was getting harder by the minute.

Then came a more abrasive voice. That of my Nan. We never really got along. I think she thought it was my fault that Dad was still single, which it probably was. "Open the door, Magenta." Despite her obvious annoyance at the current situation and having to come after me, there was a certain softness to her tone that wasn't usually there when she admonished me. "We just want to help."

I coughed, trying to clear my airways, but it ended in a gasping sob. "I w-want T-t-t-tank!" I wailed uncharacteristically. When I started the sentence I had intended on using Papa where I put Tank's name, but then I remembered that Papa didn't want me anymore. Or ever again. As I dissolved into a blob of tears and sobs I vaguely heard more footsteps and voices in the greater bathroom area, but I endeavoured to ignore them. None could fix what had just broken inside me. All they could do was try to soothe the ache with pretty lies.

"Tank isn't here, Gen," came a male voice from the other side of the door, breaking through my haze of self pity. "Will you settle for me?" It was Carter, I realised. And he was in the girl's bathroom. Super hot, super cool Carter to the rescue. Good luck. If there was anything left of me to rescue it wouldn't be much. I felt as if I'd had shreds of hope completely torn from my body by a vicious man-eating cat. "Are you decent? I'm coming in." Before I even had a chance to answer, the slide on the door was moving back and my space was invaded by Carter. He knelt before me and put his hands on mine. "I don't expect you to tell me anything," he said. "I know this is a difficult thing to come to terms with. But I'm here for you, just like I said. I'm here and I'm not going to leave until I'm ordered away. Whether it's by you or by Tank or some other higher up, it doesn't matter. I'm here, got it?"

I looked up at him with watery eyes and nodded slightly. Deny my feelings all I wanted, Carter was still on my 'To Date' list, even if the dating only happened in my dreams. I couldn't help but agree with him.

Looking around the cubicle with a curious eye, he added, "As much as I'm loving this rare opportunity to venture into the sacred girl's room, I think we should leave. Sooner or later some woman is going to come in here and see me and then go complain to security. And we all know how sat me down on a chair in the hall, handed me a wad of tissues from his back pocket and sent someone to get me a drink of water.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I knew I was waking up with my face smooshed against Carter's chest. The first thing I did was check that I hadn't drooled. The second was to while the crunchies from my eyes and stretch. Finally, I opened my eyes, looked around, saw the identical concerned looks turned in my direction and burst into renewed tears as the situation hit me again with full force. I shrunk away from Carter, burying my face in my hands, embarrassed by my actions, but he didn't seem to notice. He simply put his arm around me and tugged me into his side.

Next thing I knew, a very familiar set of hands was pulling me to my feet, encircling me in his arms and murmuring soft, reassuring Spanish in my ear. "It's all right, querida," Abuelo said as I melted into him. "Papa will pull through. I promise."

"He d-doesn-n't lo-uh-ove meee," I tried to tell him. "He doesn't wa-ant me."

"Shhh, nieta," Abuelo murmured. "What makes you think that?"

"He t-t-tt-told me," I said, stuttering as my jaw jerked out of control. "He disown-ned me."

Abuelo held me tighter then as the tears came harder.

Steph's POV

There was a time when I was scared of Tank. Intimidated, as most were, by his sheer size and inability to smile. Over time I had warmed up to him, gotten used to his straight face, come to terms with his size issues and generally just started to trust him. It helped that he had started to show characteristics of a normal himan being. I think it was his cats and the terror on his face when he contemplated marrying Lula that tipped it for me. Now, listening to him talk about my daughter with such love and genuine affection in his voice, I couldn't help but think how grateful I was that she had him in her life. It was clear that he knew her very well. He didn't even hesitate or stop for thought before answering my many questions.

"She's a B average student," he said, in reply to my latest question about schooling. "Not that you'd ever know it judging by the teacher reports of her classroom participation. She likes to sleep through class. And she's a trouble maker. Ric just recently changed her over to an all girl's private school. The last school was begging him to get her out of there."

"What did she do?" I asked. I was sitting sideways in my seat so that I could watch his facial expressions change with each new bit of information. It was fascinating to see him so animated, since I always thought of him as the stoic giant. "What kind of trouble did she cause?"

He chuckled lightly and directed the car towards an off ramp that would take us to Trenton. Tom was in his own SUV a few hundred yards ahead. "Well," he started. "There was a series of events that were most unfortunate for the school and it's property, but what finally tipped the boat was a stink bomb – homemade – that she set of in the girl's locker room."

"You're kidding," I stated. From what I'd seen of Magenta, she could be a little overbearing and was insecure about how much her guardians loved her, but she didn't strike me as a plants-bombs kind of kid. "My daughter does that?"

"Amongst other things," he stated. "You know she's on an elevator ban?" I nodded silently. "I'll let you draw your own conclusions on what actually happened but it involved a stink bomb, some silly string and the elevator getting stuck. She's a regular hell raiser." He paused to send me a private grin. "Not that we expected any less."

I was just about to take good natured offence when there was a flash of bright light out the front windscreen and Tank jerked the car to a stop. I spun in my seat to see what was going on and almost gasped. It was like déjà vu – a sight I'd seen countless times in a past life. At the intersection up ahead was a car, blocking every direction as it blazed out of control. For a moment I had the horrible sinking feeling that it was Tom's Rangeman issue SUV, but then I noticed him parked on the sidewalk on the other side of the intersection.

Still gaping at the wreck in astonishment, I murmured, "It's this town. I swear."

Tank let out a bark of laughter and clapped me on the shoulder. "Welcome home, Bombshell," he enthused.

I groaned and shook my head. "I had nothing to do with this," I insisted.

He was grinning as he got out of the car. I followed after him, simply because I didn't want to be left alone at the moment. As he made his way down the street toward the car I heard him call over his shoulder, "You may not have been responsible, but I bet we can find a whole stack of circumstantial evidence."

Three steps behind him, practically jogging to try to keep up I was suddenly seized from behind, a knife held to my throat. I yelped, trying to remember the training I'd been obligated to go through at the Unmentionable Headquarters in case of an ambush. "Um, like maybe it's a trap?" I squeaked as the arm around my waist tightened, pulling me flush up against a hard chest.

Ranger's POV

I'd been drifting in an out of sleep, or more likely, consciousness, for an hour or two and each time I awoke I was hit with guilt at what I'd inadvertently done. Mama had told me that Magenta was refusing to see me. She said that Genny was under the impression that I never wanted to see her again and that she was going to grant that wish. It made my chest tighten every time I thought about it, which was all the time when I was awake. The pain I'd felt radiating through my abdomen was minimal now, so I assumed I'd been given pain killers, but not even they could dull the ache that was caused by my daughter's pain.

At one time I thought I heard her sobs over the commotion in the hallway, but I couldn't be sure. There were so many noises in this darn place and I was barely conscious when I heard it.

Mama was there every time I came to, shaking her head and clucking her tongue in disapproval, like I could have prevented what had happened. Which I could, I realised the third time this happened. If I hadn't let my guard down for that brief moment, I never would have been shot and there wouldn't have been the opportunity for Magenta to catch me in a weak and groggy moment. This was all my fault.

I sighed and rolled my head so that I could see Mama, sitting in a chair not far away. Her hands moved rapidly as she crocheted what looked to be some kind of lace thing, but her eyes were locked on me. She raised an eyebrow at me and I sighed again. "Where's Gen?" I asked her.

"I told you last time," she said idly. "She's with your Papa and that nice boy Carter." After a moment's pause she added. "I think I heard Helen mention that Frank had arrived, so he's probably with her too. Don't worry, hijo, she's perfectly safe."

"Safe and happy are entirely different things," I told her, trying to manoeuvre myself so I could see her more easily and wincing when a twinge of pain caused me to stop. "I need to speak to her. I need to put her fears to rest. I need to-."

"You need to wait until she's calmed down enough to not keen with grief every time someone mentions you," Mama snapped. It was the type of tone she used to order me to eat my vegetables when I was young. It was the same tone she uses on my nieces and nephews when they decided to jump on her furniture. There was not arguing with that tone. "Magenta needs time and you need rest," she said, only slightly more gentle. "So stop worrying or you'll never get out of that hospital bed."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Is that a threat?" I asked menacingly, though I'm not sure why I bothered, there was no way I could follow through with any physical threat in my current condition.

Mama leaned in closer and I noticed her hands were still moving on the hook and thread. "No, little Ricky," she said. "This I promise you."

* * *

_At this point in time, all I have to say is "Bahm. BAHM. BAAAAHHHHHMMMM!" and also, I'd like to ask, as always that you send in your wonderful reviews._


	60. Where's Your Hero When You Want One?

_So it's been a long time since I updated, and I do apologise for that. At first I got distracted by reading some new books and then Uni captured me and reliably informed me that resistance was futile. However, to celebrate the fact that I made it through a week of seminars and two weeks of classes without a nervous breakdown, I created this chapter. I'm sorry if you feel it's a bit short, but really, the writing isn't great, so I thought it best to not go too far with it._

**Chapter 60**

Steph's POV

The distance between me and my kidnapper and Tank was slowly increasing as we stumbled backwards. Each jolting movement jerked the blade more firmly against my throat. Whoever he was, he clearly was not adept at walking backwards. I was in constant fear that he would stumble and fall, slicing the knife through my flesh. There was something I was told to do in these situation, but I couldn't remember what it was. Something to do with protecting my carotid artery...

"You won't get far," Tank informed him calmly. He hadn't moved. Simply stood there. He hadn't even gone for his gun! I sent him a panicked _what-the-hell?_ kind of look, but he didn't notice. Just continued to talk in soothing tones to the guy who could potentially kill me at any moment purely because he was clumsy. "The police are already on their way."

"They'll never get here in time!" my kidnapper spat, faltering back another step so abruptly that I almost didn't have time to follow. The knife blade dug into my flesh and with a sharp pain, I felt it pierce the skin. "If I can't have her no one can!"

"What do you mean by that?" Tank asked placidly, almost curiously.

My eyes felt like they were the size of dinner plates. Did he _want_ me to be murdered before his very eyes? "Uh, Tank?" I called, hearing my voice crank when I said his name. "Just a thought, but maybe we don't want to egg him on?"

Kidnapper Guy tightened the arm that was wrapped around my waist, pulling my back flush against his front. "Shhh, baby," he murmured by my ear in a slimy kind of voice. "I'd never hurt you." I had to stifle a whimper when I felt something hard poking at the small of my back. It took only a second to do a quick hand count and realise that it definitely was no a gun.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, unable to control the way the words trembled as they left my lips.

"Just you," he purred creepily, rubbing his hand over my stomach. "We're meant to be together. You and me. Always. You hurt me so much when you went and had that kid. It was supposed to be my seed growing inside you."

I shuddered at the thought, making a conscious effort not to vomit. This must be the same guy who supposedly poisoned me all those years ago. Which meant he was the reason I'd missed watching my little Maggie grow up. A sudden surge of hatred coursed through me. This man – this scumbag – had taken away all that was precious to me. There was no way I was going to let him do that again now that I'd finally gotten it back. I wanted to see my beautiful little girl blossom into a wonderful young woman. I wanted to cry proud tears at her high school graduation. I wanted to... Hell. I wanted to get to _know_ her.

Before we'd parted it seemed like she was starting to accept me little by little. She'd allowed me to hold her in my arms on two separate occasions. And she no longer glared that pure loathing in my direction every time she saw me. Then, all the stuff Tank had told me about her just intrigued me even more.

"You can't have me," I seethed, still not daring to move. "You couldn't have me back then and you can't have me now."

"Steph," Tank called, a worried expression on his usually blank face. "Stay calm. Flying off the handle will do no good."

An involuntary snort escaped me. "Calm?" I asked. "He wants to kill me. He wants to take me from my daughter. Again." I was breathing in short bursts, whether because of adrenaline or abject fear of losing out yet again, I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I wanted to get out of here so that I could be with my daughter and her guardian in their time of need. I wanted to be there to comfort her if she needed it. I _needed_ to help her get through this. The kind of bonding that would take place if she allowed me in at the moment would be life changing. I could get her to trust me more. I could... "I can't go there again, Tank," I cried, tears springing from my eyes. "I can't. I- I-... Help."

My kidnapper stroked my belly again, whispering into my ear, "Shhh, it's okay. Nothing bad will happen to you. Not while I'm around. You're safe now."

"Safe?" I scoffed automatically, feeling the knife cut into my flesh a little more. "You're holding a knife to my throat and you're telling me I'm safe with you? What kind of sick and twisted world do you live in?" I locked my gaze onto Tank's, but he wasn't even paying attention to me. He was looking over my shoulder. Focused in the distance. "Tank?"

A police car came roaring to a stop on the other side of the burning vehicle and the scene was immediately alive, distracting me from Tank and his absent focus, not least because the moment the police cars came into view my captor's knuckles dug into my stomach as if trying to grab hold of the flesh there. As the dull pain registered in my brain it was immediately wiped clear as I caught a familiar sight in the crowd.

Joseph Morelli.

The moment I noticed him he met my gaze, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the scene. Obviously, he hadn't been expecting me. Well, _surprise_! He hurried in my direction while all others were focusing on assessing the risk factors. He'd only made it a few steps in my direction when, on a cry, my captor's arm jerked the knife firmer against my neck before suddenly all the pressure was gone. I watched, astonished as the knife fell to the ground in front of me and the hand that had been gripping my waist fell away. I could hardly comprehend what was happening. It was only after Joe shouted at me to get the hell away from him, that it sank in that I had actually been released.

I managed to stagger a few feet away before my legs gave out and my knees hit the pavement hard, followed swiftly by my hands as gravity just seemed to pull me down.

"Slow breaths, Cupcake," Joe said by my ear, his hand on the small of my back, rubbing circles. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. There you go. You're okay." Once I'd calmed down enough to regain control of my limbs, I sat back and just looked at him, tears still dribbling from my eyes. "Hi," he said simply.

My mouth worked for long moments, trying to form words to explain myself. In the end I gave up and threw my arms around him. "I'm so sorry," I told him.

"Shh," he murmured, resuming his circle rubbing, his face in my hair. "There's nothing to be sorry for." And the next thing I knew I was bundled into his car and we were on our way to the hospital.

Genny's POV

I sat on Dad's lumpy old couch, carefully sipping a mug of hot chocolate – Dad's special trick to calm things down. Beside me, Mama too had a mug of hot chocolate which she held in one hand, leaving the other hand resting on the cushion beside me, like she longed to make physical contact with me but didn't want to push the limits too quickly. Every now and then her fingers would twitch a little closer, but she made no further advance, so in between her twitches I slowly inched toward her, a tiny bit at a time. I'm not sure if she realised what was happening, nor if she would make it obvious to me that she realised if she did. I was hoping that if I just brushed her fingers 'accidentally' she would have the courage to pull me into a hug. I needed it, but I still felt too awkward to initiate the interaction.

Across from the couch, Dad sat in an arm chair, also drinking from a mug, but from the glances I'd caught of its contents I was pretty sure it was something stronger than hot chocolate. He kept glancing from me to Mama and back, like he couldn't believe we were both there.

Earlier, Dad had arrived at the hospital with Mama in tow, sporting a couple of gauze bandages on her neck and a few bruises, but otherwise looking the same as I remembered her. The moment Dad saw me he must have known something was wrong because I was immediately gathered into his embrace. Of course, this spurred on the tears that had been threatening the entire time I sat there. As I cried into his shoulder, I heard him ask Carter if Papa was alright over my head.

"He'll recover with time, rest and physio. It's his words that have Magenta like this." I'd tuned the rest of the conversation out, for the most part, drifting back in in time to hear them all discussing travel plans. From what I gathered Papa's side was planning on staying the night and drive back home after lunch the next day.

I looked over at Mama, she was staring at Dad. Again. They'd been staring at each other intermittently ever since we got here. I was dying to know what they were both thinking, but I couldn't find a polite way of phrasing the questions I longed to ask. Instead, my gaze slid to the gauze on Mama's neck. "What happened?" I asked her, shifting toward her again.

"Diesel never returned," she said, misinterpreting my question. "I had to drive back with Tank." She took a slow sip of her hot chocolate and set her mug on the coffee table, retracting her hand to do so. When her hands were empty, she crossed them over her chest. Closed body language. Maybe her misinterpretation was deliberate. Probably she didn't want to get too close to me after the things I'd said and now that we weren't confined in the same house for an undetermined length of time, she didn't feel the need to pretend that she loved me no matter what. The thought hurt, but it dulled to an ache when I told myself firmly that she was doing it to avoid heart break later on. No matter what her intentions, I was not going to let this get to me. I had my Dad and grandparents. That's all I needed, right? It didn't matter that Papa didn't love me anymore. It didn't matter that Mama didn't want anything to do with me. It didn't matter. Really. I'd be fine.

Dad set his empty mug on the coffee table as well, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. When I glanced at him he had a concerned expression on his face. "Why are you crying, Genny?" he asked gently. All I could do was look at him. I hadn't realised I was. His brows drew together as he considered me. "If you're worried about your Papa, he'll be okay. He always pulls through."

"I don't want to talk about Papa," I snapped, and then, because I feared I would start blubbering with the weight of the grief that had settled in my chest, I ran from the room and didn't stop until I'd reached my bedroom. Once I'd slammed the door closed, I reefed the heavy metal CD from its case and thrust it into the player, cranking the volume until the floor was vibrating with the bass. I sat on the bed, my knees drawn up to my chest as the tears flowed freely down my face for what must have been the seven millionth time that day. The music batted against me and I allowed it to do so, hoping it would absorb my feelings and let me sit here, emotionless for just a little while.

Ten minutes later, the heavy metal still wasn't doing the trick. I stumbled over to the stereo, wiping my running nose on my sleeve on the way and changed CDs to classical lullabies. No sooner had I collapsed back onto the bed, hugging my pillow and thinking of how Papa used to play this music for me when I was little, than there was a polite knock on my door followed by an insistent scratching.

"Come in," I called, my voice garbled from crying.

* * *

_It's time again for you to send me all you thoughts on my progress. And, yes, already know that the writing in this chapter is not up to my usual standard._


	61. Starting to Look Closer

_Please ignore my insecurities regarding my writing from last chapter, I have actually come to realise that my issues extend from how my writing style (in this case at least) differs from what I am/have been reading and also the other things I have been writing. Having said this, I found it quite ironic (and I'm sure a few of you will too) that the last section and a bit of this chapter was written during my "New Developments in Middle Years of Schooling" lecture. We were talking specifically about the characteristics of a generation called the "Millenial Generation" and well... I think it may have influenced the way I went about that last section. Anyway, you're not here for a summary of the lecture I endured, you're here to read the chapter I've written. Enjoy... hopefully._

**Chapter 61**

Morelli's POV

It was bizarre sitting in my living room with both Magenta and Steph. It was like a scene right out of a dream. Or possibly a nightmare. It all depended on whether they both started yelling abuse at me. I know they were both capable – and prone – to such things, and I had endured them both separately, but with them together, I didn't think I would survive.

I'd been pouring over reports on the shooter, the guy who was after Steph and Gen, when a call had come in. Out of habit, I was still called out whenever there was an exploding car involved. I don't know whether it was because – thanks to Steph – I seemed to have the most experience with that sort of thing, or if they were simply trying to maintain some kind of normal that had long past. Either way, I was called out to a car fire at the intersection of Heaven Street and Kelvin Road. As always, I'd looked over the scene with a certain amount of disinterest, knowing that there was no way I would find Steph there. It had, after all, been a decade and a half since she left and she was currently being held in a safe house hours out of the way.

Casting a bored gaze over the burning automobile, I'd let my eyes travel further away from the scene than usual. Normally I wouldn't pay attention to anything but the car and any witnesses that stepped forward as instructed by other officers, but my mind was not entirely on the job today. It was Tank's massive form that originally caught my attention. He was supposed to be with Steph and Gen, so it immediately struck me as off. I started in his direction, trying to crane my neck past his SUV to see what he was watching. The moment I caught sight of the scene taking place there, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, blotted out by my first glimpse of Stephanie Plum, my Cupcake, in fifteen years. And she had a knife held to her throat.

The sight was so familiar that I had to make sure I wasn't dreaming. As a result, it took several moments before I realised what I was seeing. Another of Ranger's men was creeping up behind the man holding Steph. He obviously made no noise, because he was able to slip his arm around the guy and grab onto his wrist before the guy realised what was happening. A moment later the knife clattered to the pavement, and the hand that had been secured around Steph's waist came up to grip the Rangeman's hand, trying to dislodge it. Still, Steph just stood there, staring at me.

"Move!" I'd yelled at her and watched as my command had finally registered and she staggered away only to collapse to her hands and knees a few feet away. A quick glance at Rangeman's direction showed that everything was under control there – the guy had a gun aimed at his crotch and Tank was closing in – and I hurried to Steph's side.

Now, I gazed across the coffee table at her as she itched at the edge of the gauze that had been taped over her throat. The bastard had better think himself lucky that I'd decided to see to Steph's care rather than take him down, because he'd probably have been reduced to a bloody pulp staining the bitumen.

When she laid her hand back on the middle couch cushion a few inches from Gen, I noticed the girl shift a little closer. It was a pattern I'd quickly picked up on once they were in the same space. Steph would reach her hand out close to but not touch Gen, obviously wanting to connect with her daughter, and Gen would move a little closer to her hand every time it moved. Every time she got close though, Steph would fidget with something on herself before putting her hand down further away. I was fairly certain that Gen knew what she was doing at least on some small level. Ranger had subtly trained to be aware of everything around her, including her own reactions. But I doubted Steph realised what she was doing, let alone what Gen was doing.

Gen was staring at Steph's neck, as if her gaze was a step behind Steph's hand. "What happened?" she asked.

After a moment, Steph replied, "Diesel never returned. I had to drive back with Tank."

I wanted to groan at her answer, knowing it wasn't what Gen was asking about at all. We'd relayed the details of Steph's almost kidnapping at the hospital, but Gen's eyes had been glazed the entire time, clearly not taking in a single word of it. This was the first time she'd spoken since Mrs. Manoso suggested I take her home and she'd done a round of good-bye hugs, so I was keen to foster a conversation she was interested in, but Steph's answer was doing exactly the opposite. In fact, there were tears in her eyes.

I leaned forward and her water gaze shifted to me. "Why are you crying, Genny?" I asked gently. She just stared at me and I could see self doubt looming heavy over her. I'd noticed it hanging about her on a few occasions in recent years, but never had it been this bad. I had a feeling that it was to do with all the changes that were currently taking place in her life. Her mother, whom up until the last few days had been dead to her, was back. Her Papa was in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound to the stomach. Not to mention all the stuff that happened _before_ that. My gut was telling me to comfort her, but my inner father was telling me that it wasn't me that she wanted right now. It may not even be Ranger this time.

"If you're worried about your Papa, he'll be okay," I reassured her, because I wasn't sure what else I could say at that point. "He always pulls through."

Just as I'd suspected, the mention of Ranger sent her into a mini rage. "I don't want to talk about Papa!" she retorted sharply before hastening from the room.

The moment I heard her pounding footsteps on the stairs I breathed a sigh that was part relief, part resignation. Steph was turned around on the couch watching the doorway as if expecting her to come back at any moment. I knew better. Any second now the entire house would be shaking on its foundation as she spun the volume dial on the most bassy music she owned. The moment it started, Steph turned back around looking slightly dejected.

"Shouldn't you go make sure she's alright?" she asked uncertainly. It was clear to me that she was not used to dealing with teenagers. "She doesn't seem to be handling the situation with Ranger very well."

I shook my head. "No, she's not," I agreed. "But that's mostly because Manoso was caught in the groggy stage between awake and asleep and obviously didn't recognise her, or had temporary memory loss, because he claimed that he had no daughter. To her face." I paused then, not because I thought she needed the time to process the information – she'd already heard about it at the hospital – but because I needed a moment to silently curse Ranger. "As for making sure she's alright," I continued. "I know for a fact that she does not want me right now."

"She wants Ranger despite his hurtful words?" she asked, her brows furrowing. "I know she thinks the world of him, but I don't think I would be craving comfort from my father if he'd said that kind of thing to me... Well... maybe..."

As she continued to struggle with what she would or wouldn't do if she was in Gen's shoes, I pushed on with what I needed to get through to her. "I don't know if she wants Ranger or not," I started. "What I do know is that she's been practically begging you to comfort her ever since we got here."

"Me?" she practically squeaked, shaking her head as if to deny the very idea that her own daughter wanted her. "No. She... she doesn't want me. She said so yesterday."

I wanted to slap her. Well, not slap her, but I wanted to throw water on her or something. Something that would wake her up to what was happening right under her nose. "Steph," I groaned. "Do you realise how much has happened since yester? How much has changed? She wants you to comfort her. Needs it."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "No," she stated. "I- I don't know how to. You should do it."

"No, Steph. _You_ should do it. If you connect with her now, it'll bring the two of you closer. She'll trust you more if she knows that you're not just some adult that's going to look at her like her tears are stupid. Just go to her and let her talk about what's upsetting her. Better yet, let her talk about whatever she wants to talk about. It doesn't matter what it is. Just get her to talk."

"I can't do that," she said, her voice rising about an octave as her distress grew. "Can you come with me in case I stuff it up?"

I rolled my eyes at her the way she used to do to me. "You're not going to stuff it up." The phone started ringing. "Besides, I have to get that."

She continued to sit there, staring after me in a dumbfound fashion as I crossed to the hall phone. "Morelli," I answered, picking up.

"Hiya, Sugarlumps!" Tiffany enthused. "I just got off shift, do you mind if I come over?"

Managing to stifle a groan, I turned to look at Steph. She hadn't moved. And the house was still vibrating from Gen's music. "Now's not such a great time," I told her, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "There's some stuff going on and-."

"I heard Ranger was brought in last night," she sympathised. "It was looking a little grim for a while there. I'm okay with Magenta being there if that's what you're worried about. I think we really hit it off the other day. At least, she didn't seem to hate me. That's good, right? Anyway, if she's there we could just watch TV or something."

"It's not just Gen," I told her, gritting my teeth. She hadn't reacted well to the fact that I hadn't told her about Gen. I'd had to take her to dinner and a movie before she would even talk to me about it. It had taken some sucking up, but eventually she agreed to give her a chance. I wasn't sure I'd be so lucky now. Taking a deep breath, I simply pushed ahead. "Gen's mom is here." Silence. I couldn't even hear her breathing. "Tiff?"

She sighed loudly and I envisioned her shaking her head slowly from side to side. "You need to get your story straight, Joe. I seem to remember you telling me that Magenta's mother was dead. That her dying wish was that you take care of her. Now she's in the house with you? What next? Aliens on your doorstep?"

"Tiff," I pleaded. "Please, it's complicated. Why don't you come over and I'll try to explain."

"I'm on my way," she said, sounding haughty. "Just promise me one thing, Joe. Promise me you're not in love with her."

"I promise."

Steph's POV

"That was my girlfriend, Tiffany," Joe said as he hung up, staring at his shoe. I knew that body language well. I'd seen it often enough in my previous life. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. And like always, I was pretty sure it was because of me.

"She didn't take it well?" I asked, thought I didn't need to hear his answer. I knew without a doubt that it was true. He shook his head as confirmation, avoiding eye contact. "I'm sorry I'm causing you this trouble," I told him, and I really meant it. "

He shook his head again, and finally raised his eyes to meet mine. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Cupcake. None of this is your fault."

In an attempt to lighten the mood, I clasped my hand to my chest and took a dramatic step back while gasping, "Did you just say that _none_ of this is my fault?" He gave me a smirk for my efforts. "Not even the exploding car? My how the times have changed."

"Nice try," he told me. "But I'm sure even if you weren't directly responsible, it is somehow linked to you." He grasped my upper arm and led me forcefully to the bottom of the stairs. "In about a minute the music is going to change to classical," he predicted. "It always does when she's missing Ranger. That's your cue to knock." With a little shove I started up the stairs. "Go comfort your daughter."

"Only if you promise to make things right with your girlfriend," I countered, pausing on the third step and turning to face him. "I mean it. Actually make an effort. Don't start throwing blame around. Don't let your Italian Temper get the better of you. Let her have her say and then _calmly_ explain about the..." I couldn't bring myself to say killer or whatever other nouns were equivalent. "Ya know... why I'm not dead. If she really loves you she'll understand. She won't necessarily like it, but she'll understand and eventually, she'll forgive you."

He nodded and made one of those impatient gestures for me to move along just as the doorbell rang.

As I reached the top of the stairs I finally acknowledged that while I had been dreading seeing him again after all this time for fear that all the naive feelings of love – or more precisely, lust – that I'd felt for him back then would return and I'd be a lost cause, doomed to live out the same pattern over and over, there was nothing. I still felt affection for him. Still felt a connection – and why shouldn't I, what with all our shared history and the fact that he was a key player in the raising of my daughter. But there was no love like a man loves a woman. I loved him in the same way that I loved Bob.

Speaking of which, the poor old orange dog was lying on the floor with his nose pressed against what used to be the spare bedroom. I guessed it was probably converted to Magenta's room after I... went into witness protection. As I approached, he stood and looked at me with the kind of forlorn expression you see on animals that know that their owners are in pain. I scratched the top of his head when I got near enough and he leaned against my leg and whined.

Inside the room, the music stopped momentarily before resuming with a soothing string orchestra piece. Just like he'd said. My chest tightened at how well the man knew my own flesh and blood when I didn't even call her by the right nickname. _All that's going to change_, I told myself, raising my hand and knocking before I could contemplate running away. Bob must have felt like he needed to knock as well, because he began scratching at the lower half of the door.

Magenta's think and muffled voice called over the gentle strains of music for me to enter, so I slowly pushed the door open. Once there was enough space for him Bob lumbered into the room as fast as his big ol' body would take him. It took him a couple of tries and a little bit of help from Magenta, but eventually he made it up onto the bed beside her. Magenta herself, I noticed, was sitting with her back to the wall and her knees to her chest. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes as she looked up from the dog to where I still stood, uncertain, in the doorway.

"Do you mind if I come in?" I asked. I really was feeling like an outsider here, despite how comfortable I had been in this house at one stage.

She rolled her eyes at me as she wrapped her arms around her knees. "I said, 'come in,' didn't I?" The hint of sarcasm in her voice almost caused me to burst out laughing. If there was any doubt that she was my child, it would have been washed down the drain by now. As I continued to stand there during my obvious absentness she asked impatiently, "Are you coming in or not?"

In response, I abruptly took a step into the room. Now I had to find something to say to her. I wracked my brains for several moments, trying to think of something that would put me in good stead with a teenage girl, before she sighed loudly, pointed to the desk chair and said, "Sit down."

"Sorry," I mentioned as I dragged the chair closer. "I'm really bad at this sort of thing." Listen to me. Apologising to my estranged daughter for my sudden loss of interpersonal skills. How the mighty hath fallen.

"What sort of thing?" she asked. I think I may have detected a hint of curiosity in her tone.

I chuckled at the first sentence that ran through my mind and then decided to use it. "Call me old fashioned," I began, "But I haven't had too much experience talking to grown daughters I haven't seen since they were babies fourteen years ago when they seem to be in the midst of a crisis."

To my utter relief she gave a small smile at that and loosened her grip on her knees, allowing one of her hands to drop to Bob's head. The smile fell a little though as she swallowed. "How, um... how much experience _have_ you had with that sort of thing?" she asked, and I got the feeling that my answer was very important to her. And why shouldn't it be? Nobody wanted to hear that their newly found mother went about having kids and then dumping them on the doorstep of past lovers to raise for fourteen years before re-entering their life all the time. God, it sounded so much worse when you put it that way. I was such a bad mother and she seemed like such a good kid. I didn't deserve her. I should let her go back to her life as normal. She didn't need me screwing her up.

"Mama?" she prompted, breaking though my run miserable thoughts with her concerned tone. I blinked twice and looked up at her. "How much experience?" she reminded me.

"Absolutely none," I replied honestly. "And I regret the fact that I have to do it now. It's really scary for me."

Her knees dropped into a cross-legged position with her free hand swiping at her red nose – not that I would ever mention that it was red, I know how much a girl can take at one time and telling her that would definitely push the limits. "The way the Lost Boys described you made you sound fearless," she said softly, looking away from me, down at Bob. "They said you were constantly chasing bad guys and hardly ever blinked an eye when you got hurt."

The admiration in her voice had me slightly worried. I didn't want her taking the kinds of risks I'd taken; doing the stupid things I'd done. But at the same time it was flattering that the -. "First, who are the Lost Boys?" I asked.

A short, only mildly humorous laugh left her lips and she shook her head. "Papa's men," she explained. "All the Rangeman employees. I call them the Lost Boys because they'll follow him anywhere, and look to him for leadership, just like the Lost Boys in Never Neverland. You know, _Peter Pan_." She was smiling at me again. And talking almost freely. I didn't want to interrupt and risk her becoming self conscious and slipping back into her shell. I wasn't sure what my face was doing, since I currently had very little control over it and it's reactions to her words, but it was obviously on the side of good, because she continued talking. "Tank said you used to call them the Merry Men," she stated. "A Robin Hood reference. He said they used to refer to you as the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. You'd think that'd mean they thought you were bad at your job, but I don' think they did. They keep talking about your guts and how you had this kind of instinct thing that couldn't be taught and something about Burg grapevine gossip as your soul source of information. I don't know about that, but Tank once told me your glare was unrivalled even in the Burg," she paused for thought and then mentioned. "Actually, I don't know much about that either."

"You and Tank are really close, yeah?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual, trying to sound like I wasn't trying to delve into her inner most thoughts and get to know her by stealth.

"He's like a cross between an older brother and a favourite uncle," she admitted, her smile turning affectionate. "Papa often yells at him for leading me 'astray' like it's entirely Tank's fault and my behaviour has nothing to do with Papa's actions at all." She shook her head slightly. "This one time, Tank and I were attempting to make smores on the overheating computer tower. Papa caught us and confiscated the chocolate and stuff then later that night he turned the stove and we ate them. Tank was so put out that he wasn't involved that he actually pouted. It was hilarious! Have you ever seen a big black man with a shaved head pout? I had to race to the bathroom before I..." She stopped abruptly, her face falling momentarily as if she realised what she was about to say.

Again, I realised how little I knew about her, and on the other hand, how little she knew about me. Sure, she'd been told stories her entire life... I assumed... but I could only assume that the stories were more fantasized than actual fact. It would be interesting to know just what they'd all told her about me. "I can't imagine Tank being so open and ... silly. Is silly the right word?"

"I think it might be," she agreed. "But he's always been like that. Around me at least. He tries to put up a front when he's around the new guys, but as they move through the ranks he loosens up a bit."

We were both silent for a few minutes. While she focused on what her hands were doing in Bob's fur I focused on learning her features and how they worked. I definitely recognised a lot of myself in her features, but their functions were less me and more a mixture of Joe and Ranger. It was an interesting mix. I saw the hard set of Joe's mouth and the way he would draw his eyebrows together when he was thinking. But there was also the deeply intelligent look in her eyes that was pure Ranger. She hadn't quite managed the blank face when she was feeling emotions, or perhaps it was simply because she was going through such an emotional time to begin with and she just couldn't control it. It was too big for her to bridle in. I'd have to keep a look out for it over time before I could make a decision on whether she'd established that skill.

As that thought crossed my mind, I realised that I had no idea how long she would allow me to stay in her life, or even _if_ she would allow me to stay _at all._ I hoped she would. I hoped the Unmentionable guys would be okay with a short notice resignation. I hoped Janelle and Diesel would be okay with bringing all my stuff to Trenton. I hoped... Let's just say I had a lot of hopes in regards to Magenta and our lives melding, or perhaps just co-existing.

Genny's POV

She was staring at me. I knew she was staring at me. I could feel it. Her eyes were practically branding my skin, burning a trail all over my face, my hands. I tried to ignore it, focusing on sifting my fingers through the fur of Bob's neck, concentrating on the softness of it – Dad must have bathed him recently. It was really hard to sit there and just let her look at me, but I did. For a while at least. It got old pretty quick.

"Why did you leave Trenton?" I asked her, still watching my hands.

There was a short pause during which I plucked up enough courage to move my eyes so that I could peer at her – study her reactions – hoping she was no longer looking at me. Thankfully, she wasn't. I found her staring at her own hands which were working against each other ceaselessly. Her hair had fallen over her face so that I couldn't see her expression, but when she spoke, she sounded nervous.

"You don't know?" she asked. It was a short question, but it was soaking wet with emotion. Maybe it wasn't nervousness after all, maybe it was more that the reason she left was emotional.

I shook my head despite the fact that she wasn't looking at me. "Not really," I said. "I've been told pretty much everything else, but the only details I have about why you left are... well I don't."

"I'm not sure I should be talking about that with you before I okay it with Joe and Ranger," she said, making me think that it was nervousness afterall.

"Why not?" I asked. It made no sense. I'd been in the command centre when the Lost Boys were talking about their weekend with flavour-of-the-month-women, and she didn't want to tell me about the events surrounding her leaving the town she grew up in? It hit me that she didn't know me. Of course, I knew that, but I never really thought about to what degree it was. This was my mother. The mother I hadn't seen in... that I don't remember ever seeing before these holidays, and I was expecting her to just know me inside and out. Obviously, that was a stupid thing to expect. Impossible.

* * *

_Moving out of my grandparents house and into a rented place a suburb away while my house gets fixed. Also, I've started back at uni, so updates will be unpredictable. In the meantime, though, let me know what you think._


	62. I Trust You

_It took me a while to get this chapter done. There was a lot of train and lecture time involved and was put on hold a few times because of assignments. But here it is. Hope it was worth the wait._

**Chapter 62**

Tom's POV

The yelling and screaming from inside the cell was a comfort to me. It allowed me to know that threat was contained, and that he was not comfortable or happy with his current situation. This gladdened me. Comfort, happiness, contentedness, all these were not things that should be allowed for those who commit crimes and cause hurt to others. They should not be treated on the same level as people whom I respect and appreciate. The yelling escalated in pitch and volume as the man's frustration continued to rise, and was followed by a loud thunk as he plastered himself against the wall, his face peering out at me through the small window in the upper section.

I took another bite of my protein bar, savouring the familiar chewing action as I stared him straight in the eye. When I'd swallowed and he was still face to glass, I casually walked over and flicked the transparent surface. Just as I'd predicted he would do, he flinched away as if I could actually hit him, then glared hatefully at me, disliking that I'd made him do so.

"What is the next action?" I asked of Tank who was slouched in a chair just out of sight of the holding cell. "We must interrogate, da?"

He shook his head, or maybe it was just the act of ripping off a chunk of his own energy bar that caused him to appear to shake his head. "I've informed Morelli that the guy should be considered dead from this point onward," he told me. "Guaranteed he won't live more than a month or two, depending on Ranger's recovery rate. In the mean time, we should probably get as much information out of him as we can."

"Then we must start," I stated firmly. "We must begin interrogation this instant in order to get the information fresh in his brain."

Though his casual tone in the face of this man's imminent death had not surprised me, the grin that was now creeping onto his face did. There was an odd glint in his eyes that I could not comprehend as he looked over at me. I was about to ask what was on his mind when he spoke, illuminating just that.

"You just want another opportunity to hug him," he said. His tone was unusual and reminded me of the way Boss Girl would speak. As if there were hidden connotations in her words.

"I do not know what you speak of," I told him, crossing my arms over my chest. "We must start interrogation."

He shook his head as he lowered himself to the ground and crawled the few feet to the cell door. Once there he slowly reached up until his hand was just under the small window, clenched his hand into a fist and smashed the bottom of his fist against the glass. His plan worked. The guy stopped screaming completely and disappeared from sight. I think he might have fallen over from shock.

In the new silence of the hall, Tank's cell phone rang out. I tried to gleam all the information I could from his side of the conversation, but it was mostly a bunch of 'yeps' and finally an 'I'll meet you there'. When he hung up, he turned to me and simply said, "We've gotta roll."

Genny's POV

I sat cross legged on the kitchen bench watching the adults in the room have an intense staring contest. Tiffany and Mama were having a staring contest with each other. Dad was having a staring contest with the ceiling. He was slouched back in his chair, his head hanging floppily back and he kept making faces at the ceiling. I don't know whether the faces were because of the tension in the room or if Dad was trying to throw off the ceiling's concentration, but either way, the ceiling was definitely winning. Maybe it should be disqualified due to a lack of actual eyes?

No one has said anything it what felt like an hour. I checked the clock. Mama and I had only been down here for ten minutes. She'd refused to tell me why she left Trenton, but promised that I would hear the tale eventually, once everything was straightened out. By straightened out I guess she means who gets custody of me now that she's not dead anymore. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Shouldn't I be allowed to stay with whoever I want to stay with? It seemed logical to me. I mean, I'm old enough to make decisions now, right? I made the decision to meet my Mama, didn't I?

Anyway, Mama was sitting on one side of the table, her hands folded neatly on the table, her auburn hair falling in soft waves around her face which was set in a decidedly serene mask. I didn't quite believe that she was okay with this situation, there was an occasional twitch in the corner of her eye that suggested Tiffany was really irking her, but she was definitely doing a better job at masking her emotions than Tiffany was. Tiffany was perched on the edge of her chair, across from Mama, her arms crossed over the chest and her left leg crossed over her right, wiggling in an agitated fashion. Every now and then she would glance over at Dad, as if expecting him to do something about what was going on, but really, there was nothing going on, except the staring and tension.

I slurped on my milkshake loudly, then smacked my lips once I'd swallowed to show my appreciation of my own milkshake talents. "So Dad," I said into the strained silence , "Mama and I were talking and she didn't want to tell me why she left Trenton in the first place until she ran in by you and –," I paused, swallowing back the lump that threatened to block off my throat yet again. "... or Papa first. So what's the story?"

Dad groaned. An interesting reaction, I have to admit. This was either going to be really entertaining or really confronting. I was hoping for entertaining. Confronting would be just too, well, confronting for such a new relationship. I didn't let him avoid it though, I scooted along the counter until I could reach the back of his chair if I swung my legs out. I felt rather juvenile to do it, but I started lightly kicking the chair.

"Tell me," I insisted, shuffling forward for ease of access. "Tell me or I'll ask someone else and they'll tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell-."

I was cut off abruptly as I had to scramble for footing so I didn't fall flat on my face on the kitchen tiles. Dad had moved his chair out of reach, causing me to swing my legs too far. The extra momentum that brought my legs back down threw my balance off kilter. "Hey!" I exclaimed, clutching at the edge of the counter as my heart beat rapidly against my ribcage. "I could have _died_ just then!"

"You wouldn't have died," Dad told me with a well practiced eye roll. It was the kind of expression of a man who was well used to the female teenage drama. "The most you would have done was break your nose."

"Break my nose?" I exclaimed. "That's terrible!"

Mama, bless her, jumped into the indignant mother role quite easily, perhaps it was because she herself had once been a female teenager (shocking, I know) and she didn't like the idea of having a broken nose and still having to go to school and be seen by all her friends. I mean, seriously, stupid bandage on nose, resultant black eyes. It's just gross. "Do you know how unattractive black eyes are?" she asked him. "You know she'd have two of them? How is she supposed to pick up hot guys when she has two black eyes? Well, other than the sympathy factor. And another thing, what if she accidentally let's it slip that it's your fault? How's that going to look for you?"

"You don't want to look like an abusive parent, Joe," Tiffany added helpfully. I was almost surprised by her willingness to be on my side in this matter, considering Mama was there as well, but then I remembered how nice she'd been to me the day we met, getting her friend to bring us lunch. "Think of your reputation."

Dad, who was still facing me rather than acknowledging the women, narrowed his eyes at me. Like it was my fault Mama and Tiffany were sticking up for my face. He let out a sigh and pulled me off the counter. "You shouldn't be sitting up there in the first place," he murmured, sounding like a disgruntled child who'd been suitably admonished. He thrust me in the direction of the table and pushed the chair he had been sitting on toward me as well.

Without questioning his actions, I sat down on Mama's side of the table and looked up at him expectantly. He wasn't looking at me, instead he'd locked eyes with Mama and Mama was staring right back at him. If I hadn't already known they had history – like, duh, she asked him to co-raise her baby daughter, you don't ask that of a complete stranger... usually – it would have been quite obvious from the kind of communicating looks that were passing between them now.

Eventually, Mama sighed and crossed her arms almost self consciously over her chest. "It's up to you," she said. "Legally, she's yours, so the decision to tell her or not is yours as well. You might want to think about how your girlfriend is going to take the information though. If you plan on telling the story right now, that is."

I watched, my mind a whirl with possibilities, as Mama stared at the table top. Everyone had always described her as confident and cure of herself, but something about the way she wouldn't meet anyone's eyes right now made me think they didn't really know her at all. Then again, she could just be ashamed. You don't look at people when you're ashamed, right?

After a long silence, I looked up to Dad intending to tell him that it was alright and he didn't have to tell me, but Tiffany spoke first, drawing all attention to herself. Even Mama looked up.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked. I couldn't tell if she as talking to Dad or Mama. "Joe, what does she mean by 'how I'll take it'?" _Well that cleared that little dilemma up._ "What did you do?"

Dad cringed under Tiffany's glare of accusation, but didn't say anything. It was Mama who attempted an explanation.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to cause trouble, it just that my leaving was largely in reaction to something Joe did." She paused, appearing to search for more words. "Even if Joe doesn't tell you tonight, I know he'll probably tell you eventually, so I want you to remember that it was a long time ago, and I admit that his actions were probably a result of what I, myself, had done." Mama was making steady eye contact with Tiffany when she continued, as if she was trying to telepathically insert her point of view into Tiffany's brain. "You shouldn't judge Joe by his past relationships," she said. "Especially not the relationship he had with me. It wasn't healthy. I can see that now. At the time our actions were tainted by a whole bucket load of emotions. Love was there – at least we thought it was love..." she trailed off, he eyes going distant.

"It was love," Dad affirmed for her. "Just not the kind of love that was needed for the kind of relationship we were trying to build." His words were gentle. The affection that was evident within them made my insides go all mushy, like when I watch a really sappy movie, luckily, I didn't cry. This time.

Mama gave me a small, grateful smile and added, "As a result, there was a tonne of frustration. Joe and I were just not made to co-exist in that situation."

Nodding her understanding, Tiffany reached across and squeezed Mama's hand. "I'll keep it in mind," she promised, then with a quick look at the three of us, she abruptly stood and grabbed her handbag. "I should probably go," she explained. "I'm sorry for intruding. Before she rushed out the door she addressed each of us in turn. "Stephanie, I apologise for being such a hateful cow, I hope you understand that I was just being protective. I saw you as a threat and acted accordingly. I can see now that I have nothing to worry about. I hope you intend on sticking around. I'm sure everybody would loathe to lose you again so soon." She turned to me. "Magenta, I look forward to getting to know you a bit better, if you'll allow me to, of course. And Joe." She took a moment to breathe deeply, straightening her shoulders and looking Dad straight in the eyes. "I do not expect you to tell me the story of why Stephanie left town. As Rafiki so aptly put it, _What does it matter? It is in the past._"

!

The sky was a clear blue with only a few clouds, the sun shining merrily down at me as I stepped out on to Dad's front porch. The gross juxtaposition of the outside world against my inner one made my breath catch in my throat. Birds were singing joyful songs in the trees, completely oblivious to the turmoil threatening to tear me down. In the last twenty-four hours I'd gained the mother I'd dreamed of my entire life but lost the father I'd loved and adored for the same amount of time. The only thing keeping me from bawling my eyes out even more that I already had was the fact that he was still alive and, according to the doctors, was going to make a complete recovery.

I sat down on the top step, gazing blindly at the early morning traffic. Saturday mornings were always busy in the burg and surrounding neighbourhoods. The familiar activity was somewhat comforting. Parents taking their semi-athletic offspring to Saturday morning sport. People walking their neglected-Monday-to-Friday dogs. Middle aged couples going to the supermarket an hour before it opened so they could get the good groceries before anyone else, then go home to continue being scarily efficient.

If I was at Rangeman I'd be having breakfast with the nightshifters right now. If this was a normal Saturday of the holidays I'd probably still be asleep. As it was though, I'd only managed a couple of hours, which had never happened to me before. I'd always been a sound sleeper – if you discounted the doesn't-sleep-well-when-there's-light thing. I chalked it up to worry, stress and all the changes going on in my life, but Tank would probably spin something about adolescent physiological crap that I never quite cared about.

As I bumped down a couple of steps and leaned back to rest my elbows on the porch, Bob sidled out of the screen door that I'd left ajar and plopped his big orange head on my shoulder.

"You couldn't sleep either, huh?" I asked, scratching the top of his head. He let out a little huff and walked away again, leaving me alone with my poisonous thoughts.

I wasn't alone for long though. I'd just relaxed once more back into the steps, closing my eyes to savour the warmth of the sun on my skin when I felt a presence behind me. Instead of acknowledging whoever it was, though I simply moved over to one side in case they wanted to get past or sit down or something. Apparently not, because whoever it was just kept standing there. "Are you going to join me or not?" I asked keeping my eyes closed. Next thing I knew, I was nestled against Mama's chest, with her legs on either side of my own. Involuntarily, I felt my muscles stiffen at the unfamiliar caress. I didn't know what to do.

"Shh," Mama murmured. "It's okay. There's no right or wrong here. Just relax." She started stroking my hair, which was an absolute rat's nest, since I hadn't bothered to brush it this morning. "I miss my curls," she sighed softly working out some of the knots with her fingers. "You never realise how much you'll miss them until they're gone."

"How long does a chemical straightener last?" I asked on a wide yawn.

"About six months."

I nodded my understanding against her. "How long ago did you straighten it?"

"Four months." She paused a moment before adding. "I'm thinking of dying it back to it's natural colour," she said. "What do you think?"

I smiled. "I think I know someone who would love to help you with that." As mama continued to detangle my hair, I adjusted my position so that I was sitting more in front of her than nestled against her.

Her finger's deftly tamed my hair and began securing it in a braid when she asked, "And who would that be?" She finished wrapping a hair band around the end of my hair and I turned around to face her. My smile had turned to a grin, but I didn't say anything. "Who?" she repeated. I could tell she was trying not to laugh at my face.

"Auntie Mare," I said simply. "She loves doing girly stuff with me because she never gets to do it at home. And it just so happens that she's in town at the moment." At the slightly confused look I started to explain. "Mary Lou," I said slowly. "Your best friend from school?"

"I know who she is," Mama clarified. "What do you mean by she's in town at the moment? Doesn't she live here?"

"She moved to Australia a few years ago," I explained. "She's visiting. Staying at Rangeman."

Dad stepped out of the house with the phone in his hand and held it out to me. "You girls have fun," he said. "I've got to get to work." He hugged Mama and kiss the top of my head. "I'll be home late."

* * *

_This is the part where you send in your reviews and let me know what you think._


	63. Getting to the Heart of it

_Usually, travelling back and forth to uni on the train, I read a book, but the last two days this story has been nagging at me so much that I've had to set my book aside and just write. Admittedly, this isn't what I pictured happening in this chapter, but as all the greats say, sometime characters hijack the story. I'm pretty sure that's what's happened here._

**Chapter 63**

"Is there anything unusually strainging going on in your home life?" Ms Krystoff asked, laying aside her pen and folding her hands on the chipped and scarred desk as she met my gaze. "Anything that has you more stressed or worried than you generally are?"

I wanted to laugh in her face at just how deep that question really was, but I knew she was only trying to help. Part of me wanted to tell her to keep her nose out of my business, but the logical (and admittedly, rather neglected) part of my brain insisted that I stay in the chair and spill. Talking about things helps, right? It would be good for me to get an outsider's perspective. And like Ms Krystoff always said, her office is a safe place.

"Where should I start?" I asked, trying to suppress a sigh. In the one term I'd been here I'd spent an awful lot of time talking to Ms Krystoff, not that I'm complaining; I mean, it gets me out of class, but I got the feeling that the more time I spent with her the weaker it made me. I wondered briefly if Dad or Papa (or anyone) knew just how much time I spent talking to my form teacher.

She sent me a reassuring smile. "Start wherever you're comfortable," she said, a line I recognised from our previous visits. "We can start with what you did on your vacation if you like."

I grimaced. I'd only been back at school three days, so it was a logical and presumably safe topic for her to bring up. If only she knew exactly what had happened in the days leading up to school starting again, she wouldn't have asked. Then again, it was exactly that which I should talk to her about and I wouldn't be here if she already knew.

I realised I'd been quiet for a long time contemplating all of this and snapped my head up. "Sorry," I apologised.

Her face set, as always, in a serene expression that told of total confidence and understanding. The patience she must have to deal with teenage angst day after day. "That's okay, Magenta" she assured me. "Take all the time you need."

Nodding my thanks, I began to put my mental ducks in a mental little row. "My vacation had it's ups and downs," I started cautiously. "It started the way they always do. Papa –," I coughed against the lump in my throat that always formed when I spoke of Papa in the last few days. "Papa and a few of his men took me on a camping trip."

Ever observant, Ms Krystoff noticed my reaction. "Did something happen on the camping trip?" she asked gently.

"No." I shook my head vehemently. "The camping trip was great." She nodded that I should continue. "I went to Dad's for the holidays because Papa had government stud to deal with."

"And how was that?"

"He's got a new girlfriend," I informed her, revelling in the look of 'ah ha!' that crossed her face. She though I was jealous of Dad directing his affection at someone else, just like what Dad thought. Honestly, how predictable did they think I was? Surely Dad would have known me better by now. Even Ms Krystoff was aware of my openness to sharing and she and I had only been circling each other for a few months.

"What do you think of the new girlfriend?" she asked almost knowingly. It was like she was applying knowledge of typical rich, snobby kids whose parents are divorced on my predicament. Of course, the chances of him of her having a barrel full of heterosexual-male-guardians-and-the-mother-has-recently-returned-from-the-dead type experiences to draw on were virtually non-existence.

"She's okay," I admitted easily. "She understanding. Doesn't try to insert herself where she's not wanted."

"Is that all?" There seemed to be a hopefulness to her tone, like she was praying that my problems wouldn't go any deeper. I still couldn't blame her. Sometimes contemplating my problems confused the hell out of _me._

"I've got no problem with her," I told him. "There was a small problem with Dad, being that he didn't actually tell me he was dating, but I feel we've resolved that issue."

She nodded her encouragement for me to continue, taking up her pen again and scribbling some notes on the page before her. "What then?" she asked.

"I went and stayed at Abuelo's for a couple of days," I said, deliberately skipping the events that led to me leaving.

"Abuelo is Papa's father?" he clarified. "Why were you visiting Papa's family if you were staying with Dad?"

I sighed and decided to give as little information as possible. "I had a fight with Dad and Ella and the Lost Boys decided it would be a good idea if I had some time away from him." She knew I classed Papa's employees as family, so that part wasn't hard for her to accept, but even I could see the holes in my story.

"So they sent you out of town?" she asked. "Why not stay at your..." she paused, trying to fingd the right names. "Why not stay with your mother's parents?" he retried, points for effort though. It must be hard to keep the stories of each individual kid separate, even when you have their file in front of you.

I took a moment to search for the right words to explain what happened without actually telling her what happened and eventually settled on, "It was pretty horrendous fight." Thankfully, he seemed to accept that and I went on to explain about Papa coming back, Auntie Mare arriving, the package from Mama, Diesel – minuse the popping in and out, of course – then the shooting at the mall, Mama's return, the safe house, Papa being shot -.

Ms Krystoff stopped me there, which I was completely okay with. I really didn't want to talk about what came after that. She pushed a box of tissues toward me, making me realise that I had been crying. Amazing how I hadn't even noticed.

"You and Papa are quite close, aren't you?" she asked, scribbling furiously on the writing pad.

I nodded when she glanced up at me. "He's played the lead role in raising me for as long as I can remember," I told her with what sounded to me like a pathetic sniff. "It was hard to see him so out of it," I said honestly. "He usually notices everything, and I mean everything. But he just looked so..." I trailed off, not sure of exactly how to describe his appearance as he lay there iin the hospital bed, surrounded by machines.

"Small?" Ms Krystoff suggested, looking over at me with sad, understand eyes.

I nodded. "It was like he'd shrunk. I thought he was going to... to keep shrinking until he... disappeared."

By the time we thought to check the time it was already halfway through the last class of the day. I apologised for taking up so much of her time, but she told me not to worry about it, that she was glad for the break from her classes. Then she sent me home, assuring me that she would vouch for my absence from most of the school day.

As I stepped out the front door to the school I was just in time for Grandpa to pull up to the curb. He'd been picking me up from school every day to save me the horrors of the bus and he liked to arrived early. I'd spent the last three afternoons at my grandparents house until after dinner when Dad would take me home to his house. These afternoons were mostly – I think – so that they could keep an eye on me and make sure I wasn't doing anything destructive (to myself presumably, but I don't see why they would worry about that kind of thing, I wasn't that kind of person), but also so I could spend time with Mama who had temporarily moved into her old bedroom while she looked for a place of her own. Why didn't she return to the hotel room she'd been sharing with Janelle, you ask? Simple. Janelle had checked them out Sunday afternoon, deposited Mama's things at Rrangeman's front desk and left a message on Mama's cell that she had returned to Ohio to pack up Mama's things for her. This came as a bit of a shock to all of us (including Mama) as Mama hadn't even made a confirmed decision to move back to Trenton yet.

"I guess I have no choice now," she'd laughed nervously after explaining what had happened to me and Auntie Mare. "I should probably start looking for a place to stay." I got the feeling that she didn't like the fact that her choices had been taken away from her. There was a small frown creasing between her brows and her eyes were a little sad.

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to," I'd told her, trying to mask how much I wanted her to do just that. "You're a grown woman. Just because Janelle is sending all your stuff here doesn't mean this is where you're stuck. You could go anywhere in the world."

She'd looked a little sadder at my words and when I looked away to pick out a nail polish colour I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she sent a slightly panicked expression in Auntie Mare's direction. "I think I have some more colours up in my room," I'd said, glancing absently in their direction. "I'll be back in a second."

As I sauntered casually out of the room I heard Auntie Mare whisper, "She notices almost as much as Ranger, you realise? She probably knows how terrified you are about coming back." I didn't bother to pause and eavesdrop as had originally been my intention, but instead made my way up to my bedroom like I'd said, looking for the polishes with slow deliberate actions. When I returned Mama was looking a lot calmer, but I could still see the tell tale signs of panick in her posture.

"Here they are," I said cheerfully, pretending I was blissfully unaware as I set a handful of little bottles on the coffee table. "This one is my favourite." In the continued silence I picked up the purple-pink bottle and began shaking it.

"Do you want me to stay?" Mama practically blurted.

Focussing on keeping my tone casual and carefree, I started applying the rich colour to my toe nails. I concentrated on finishing a nice even coat on my big toe while I chose my words carefully. "Not if you don't want to stay," I said, moving to the next toe. "I don't want you to stay if you're not going to be happy here."

I thought I heard a frustrated grunt, but when I looked up all I saw was Auntie Mare's knowing gaze going from me to Mama.

"What if I told you I wanted to stay?" Mama tried again. "Would you be okay with that?"

"Sure," I agreed. "Why not?"

Now Auntie Mare was suppressing a smile. "I told you," she murmured.

Sending a half hearted glare in Auntie Mare's direction, Mama said, "If you don't want me to stay I won't."

"Why does your decision rely on what I want?" I asked.

"Because you're my daughter. I don't want to force something upon you that you don't want." She was staring into my eyes trying to broadcast some message she couldn't bring herself to voice. I couldn't quite tell what though.

"Why shouldn't I want you in my life?"

"I don't know!" she practically yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "You have the right! I gave you up before you were two. You've probably got no idea who I am as a person, and my outburst the other day didn't exactly do me justice. For all I know you think of me as the woman who came along and screw up you life! Seems to me you've got a pretty sweet set up going on here that I've fairly well disrupted. I mean, look at what happened to Ranger! That never would have happened if I'd just stayed away. I shouldn't have come. It was selfish." She wasn't looking at either of us, in fact, it looked like she was yelling at the coffee table. "I should just leave."

Something inside me cracked at the sound of those words. I can't pin point exactly which part, but I was fairly certain it was the same part that had split wide open, tearing everything around it when Papa had disowned me. I wouldn't survive losing her now that I knew she was alive. Of that I was certain. "I don't want you to leave," I said in a voice so small I almost didn't hear it myself.

She blinked and looked up at me. "What?"

"I don't want you to leave," I managed to repeat with more conviction and volume. "I'm sorry I made it seem like I didn't care either way. I just didn't want to be a burden."

To my astonishment Mama let out a shaking laugh. "_You_ don't want to be a burden?" she questioned. "You've got fifteen years worth of experience at being a daughter. I've got not even two years experience of motherhood. Not only that, it's over a decade out of date. If anyone would be a burden in this relationship it would be me."

"I don't want to be an obligation, then," I clarified. "I don't want you to feel like you _have _ to stay. You don't. Like you pointed out, I have a good life here. Sure, if you stuck around it would be a great life, but I don't want you to throw your needs out the window just because you '_have to take care of my needs first'_," I air quoted. "You don't. I'll understand if you want to go."

She looked at me with a torn expression on her face and I remember thinking _crapcrapcrapcrapcrap_, worrying that somehow I'd convinced her to leave. Then she surprised me by asking, with a furrowed brow, "How _old_ are you?" That broke the tension a bit as we both laughed at the absurdity of the question. When we'd calmed down, I looked around to find that Auntie Mare had disappeared. I was about to comment on her absence when Mama asked softly, "Do you want me to stay?" I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off. "No. I want a straight answer. I realise you've grown up with both Joe and Ranger teaching you subtle little ways to sit on the fence, never really giving a definite answer, and yes, I can see how that can be useful, but just this once I want you to set that aside and answer me. Yes or no. Do you want me in your life permanently for the rest of your days? Til death do us part?"

I'd blinked twice, attempting to process what she'd just said. I don't remember anyone every sitting me down to teach me all that stuff. Sure, I'd noticed from time to time that Dad and Papa have a tendency to do that kind of thing, and it got on my nerves a little, but... "Is that why you left?" I asked on a sudden burst of insight. "You were sick of maybe's, kinda's and answer avoidance."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Mama said, "It was part of it, yes. And you're doing it again."

"Sorry," I apologised again. It seemed like I'd been doing that a lot lately. Apologising. Half the time I'm not even sure what I'm apologising for, it just seems like the right thing to do, or the only thing I can think of.

"Deep thoughts?" Grandpa asked, snapping me back to the present. We were already parked in the driveway. The car was turned off and he was turned toward me.

"Sorry," I said. _There it was again._

"Don't be sorry, Princess," he said, tucking a curl behind my ear. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm just worried about you." He paused a moment, gently turning my face side to side. "When was the last time you spoke to one of the Lost Boys?"

I shrugged. "Saturday?" Had it really been that long? I can't remember the last time I went that long without being in contact with them. I hadn't even chatted with any of them on msn in the last four days. Before I could say anything else, Grandpa patted my knee and got out of the car, leaving me to scramble out after him, still confused as to what kind of point he'd been trying to make. Was he worried because I hadn't spoken to Papa's employees? That didn't sound right, but I didnt' have any more time to think about it since I was swept straight into the kitchen for the daily discussion on the day's events. I slid into the chair beside Great Gran as Grandma set a glass of milk in front of me, a generous piece of cake followed soon after and I noticed that while there were four settings for afternoon tea, there were only three people in the room. "Where's Mama?" I asked.

"She said she'll be down in a minute," Great Gran informed, taking her cake in her shaking hands and guiding it to her mouth.

Ranger's POV

They were doing it again. Why was it always the first thing I heard when I woke up? It seemed like I'd heard over a thousand arguments between the nurses since I'd been here and they were always the same topic. Me. No, I'm not being cocky; I'm being blunt and exasperated. This is why I hate hospitals. More specifically, this is why I hate being a patient in a hospital. The constant attention and favouritism they showed me got on my nerves quicker than newbies with no sense of direction. I had no need for them. In fact, I couldn't think of a single purpose for their being, except perhaps bait.

That's how I endured the whispered words they thought I couldn't hear, the longing looks, the overly affectionate sponging (and that was just the newbies! Haha! _God, would you listen to me? I'm starting to sound like Lester). _I liked to imagine all the ways I could be rid of them by throwing them out as bait in a capture and the operation going awry. By far, the favourite scenario I'd come up with to date was that crim injected the nurse with air when she got too close to him. Don't ask me how he got a hold of a syringe with nothing but air in it, but imagining it sure made life easier.

"It's my turn to bathe him," one of the nurses whispered vehemently over by the doorway. "You did it yesterday."

"I did not!" the other exclaimed quietly. "Johanna did!"

"I can bathe myself," I drawled, keeping my eyes closed.

"Oh, but Mr. Manoso," the first nurse gushed. "You might do yourself further injury and-."

Opening the eye closest to the door, I speared the pair with a sharp gaze that shut them both up. "If it hurts I'll stop."

They pouted and I knew from experience that they were unaware they were doing so. The second nurse opened her mouth to say something – probably tell me that if it began to hurt she would take over – but before she could utter a single syllable Tank stepped into the room. "If it starts to hurt, I'll take over," I he offered. The ladies took an unconscious step back, intimidated by his size and muscles and he sent them a gleaming white smile while I rolled my eyes. "I promise I won't injure him more. I'll even get our medic to supervise."

"I-I guess that would be alright," Nurse number two said. "I mean, so long as he's clean and doesn't do himself more harm." She glanced over at me. "Are you okay with this, Mr. Manoso?"

"Yes," I said shortly. "It's a fantastic idea. I'll call you if I need you." As the women scampered reluctantly from the room Tank came to stand at the end of my bed. "Don't even say it," I warned, seeing his persistent grin.

"The ladies love you, Ric. Why don't you just enjoy it like a normal guy?" He shook his head. "Never mind. I know why. Aaanyway, the boys and I thought you might be lonely and bored and lonely and frustrated, so we brought someone in to see you!" Turning his head he called for someone outside to 'bring 'em in.'

_I had trouble keeping my expression neutral as my mind immediately skipped over to Gen. I'd missed her so much. I just wanted to see her so that I could set everything straight once and for all. My blank face slammed into place, however, as I caught sight of my visitor._

* * *

_Please review. It may prompt me to write more quickly. Though looking at the amount of assignments I have due in the next two weeks I probably shouldn't. When has that ever stopped me before though?_


	64. We're All in This Together

_I finished writing this chapter (as in physical pen to paper type writing) on the train yesterday evening during a time when I probably should have been working on my assignment (due today), but alas, I find it hard to concentrate on academics while on public transport. Bad for my stress levels. Good for getting out another chapter. So I finished writing my assignment an hour ago and decided that rather than move straight on to the next assignment (due tomorrow and not even started yet *eek!*) I would type up the remainder of this chapter for you all. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 64**

Frank's POV

I was worried about her. Even as a child, Gen had always been busting to see Ricardo's men. I remembered her at four years old, sitting at the living room window watching for the moment that the black SUV would pull to the curb and one of the men would step out. She'd stayed with Helen and me for the weekend while Ricardo was on a business trip. She would have been staying with Joe but he'd been called into a homicide investigation and his hours had suddenly become less predictable. Ricardo had been due to arrive by dinner time on Sunday, but had called saying he would not be back until at least mid Monday. He'd organised for Tank to take little Genny – or Maggie, as we called her back then – to the airport to meet him. Of course, I'd told her this and she'd been so excited about going out with Tank that she'd waited from after breakfast until just before lunch when he turned up, sitting at the window, watching every car go by, waiting for Tank.

It had now been four days since she'd seen or spoken to one of the Lost Boys and she didn't even seem too concerned about it. I knew how tight knit the relationship she had with them all was, especially Tank, and while at times I was admittedly jealous of the ease and openness with which she interacted with them, but she needed them. The signs were so obvious. Having the familial structure she's had all her life, making friends has been hard for her. With the Lost Boys she'd been guaranteed acceptance based purely on the fact that she was the bosses daughter. And no matter what anyone said about her only technically being his ward, I classed Ricardo as her father.

She was lost in her own little world the entire trip home when I picked her up from school, and I let her stay there, only snapping her out of it when she failed to realise we'd stopped. As Helen ushered her into the kitchen for their daily ritual, I made my way upstairs to where I knew Stephanie would be, finishing up some paperwork relating to her old life.

The bedroom door was open, a lingering habit from her teenage years when we actually took the door off her room to dissuade her from closing it all the time. As I entered I looked around at the decor. It had changed a lot over the years since we moved in. The theme of the room seemed to flow from one stage of her life to the next, casting out the old to make room for the new, but always keeping something from the past so that by the time we allocated the room for the grandchildren when they came to visit it was like a museum dedicated to Stephanie's life. The pale pink walls from her childhood. The Wonder Woman lamp from her tween years. The bedazzled mirror from high school and so on. Keeping the room the way it was had never been a conscious decision, though seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw it all still there a few days ago I was glad we had.

It was funny. Over the years we'd had each of the grandkids stay overnight at one stage or another, either alone or with another, and no one had delighted in the obscure collection of artefacts as much as Magenta. Even before she knew that the things belonged to her mother, she had a fascination with the objects.

Stephanie was sat at the desk, her head resting on her hand as she leaned over the papers in front of her. Her right hand twirled a pen in the air and her leg jiggled against the desk draws making the contents rattle slightly. The scene was so familiar to me that for a moment I forgot that she wasn't sixteen.

"You don't have to finalise everything right this second, Pumpkin," I told her.

She jumped and let out a laugh almost at the same time. "You startled me," she said turning around as she checked her watch. "Shouldn't you be picking up Magenta?"

"She's already downstairs," I informed her. "She got let out early." Before she could comment on that, I got right to the heart of why I'd come up here. "You need to talk to her about what's going on at the moment."

"Dad," she said exasperatedly, reminding me once again of her sixteen year old self. "What do you think we've been doing? Playing chess? I talk to her about what's going on every day."

I didn't want to point out flaws, but she was new to the parenting thing and I could tell she was still uncomfortable with the gig. "So she's been talking to you about Ricardo? The Lost Boys?"

Her face creased into a frown as she though back. "No," she said slowly. "Is that unusual?"

"Highly."

Stephanie fiddled with her pen, a frown creasing her brow as she stared down at her hands. "There's more going on than she's telling me about, isn't there?" I nodded when she glanced up at me, but said nothing, aware that she was thinking out loud. "I can understand why she'd be reluctant to share with me this early, but..." She paused, looking for the right words. "Who does she usually talk to about her problems? Wait, don't tell me. It's Ranger, isn't it? Of course it is." She sighed and nodded determinedly, two contrasting gestures that looked quite odd when co-existing. "I'll go talk to her then. We need to straighten this out once and for all." Now she began to shake her head as she packed her papers into a folder. I got the impression she'd forgotten I was still in the room, or she didn't realise she was talking aloud. Both were very common occurrences for her, so I chose not to point it out. "I can't believe I let this go on so long," she muttered. "Just too grateful for the fact that she wants me to stay. Didn't think about her relationship with the man – men – who raised her. I'm such a dimwit."

She passed me as she left the room, still shaking her head and muttering under her breath. I decided that I'd have a talk to her tonight about all the self admonishing she was doing regarding her parenting. It's not like anyone expected her to know exactly what to do in each situation right off the bat. Especially when the 'child' in question was actually a teenager who'd had years of environmental conditioning. I know Magenta was trying her best to be accommodating to Stephanie and that Stephanie was in turn trying her best to be a good mother, but she was expecting too much too fast.

When I made my way down stairs a few minutes later, I could hear my girls talking in the living room and decided to listen in. I had no doubt Stephanie would do the right thing; I just wanted to listen to them talk for a while, like I used to do when Helen would sit the girls down for a chat after school.

"How was school?" Stephanie asked, trying for a casual tone, and to an outsider it may have appeared that she achieved it, but I knew her voice so well; I could tell she was nervous.

"It was okay," Magenta said, noncommittally.

"Did you learn anything interesting?"

"Did you really wanna talk about school, or is there a hidden agenda here?"

Stephanie hesitated a moment before replying. "You caught me. I have a hidden agenda."

"Let's hear it then." Her tone was flippant, but I could hear the underlying suspicion.

"It's about your Dad," Stephanie said slowly. I cringed at the name error.

"What about Dad?"

"I think you need to go and talk to him."

Magenta's voice sounded slightly panicked when she spoke next. "Why?" she asked. "Is he alright?"

Sounding confused, Stephanie pointed out – still oblivious to her mistake – that he was in hospital.

"What?" Magenta squeeked, sounding panicked. "What's happened?"

"He was shot," her mother said, still confused. "You know that."

At this point I heard the distinctive sound of a Plum woman rolling her eyes. When you live in this house long enough you don't need to see their faces to know they're rolling their eyes. "You mean Papa," she said shortly. And while I thought it was a bit harsh, I had to keep in mind that she'd just been panicking a moment ago, so it was understandable to an extent.

"Right," Stephanie said softly. "Papa. Why did I say Dad?" She paused then continued. "Anyway, you need to talk to him."

"He doesn't want to talk to me." Magenta's words were so soft that I almost didn't hear them.

"Yes he does," Stephanie said adamantly.

"You weren't there," she said with a little more strength. "He said plain as day that he doesn't have a daughter. That I wasn't his daughter."

"He was groggy. Obviously he didn't realise what he was saying, if he did he wouldn't have said the things he did. He loves you."

"He doesn't want me," Magenta said firmly, her voice thick. "The only reason he even looked after me was because you asked him to. He'd do anything for you, especially since we all thought you were dead. Did you know that he didn't even allow anyone to tell me about you and what your life was like in detail until two weeks ago? I grew up with a giant gaping hole in my life where my mother should have been that I couldn't even fill with a solid idea of her character. Do you know what that's like?"

She didn't even allow Stephanie to utter a word, simply gulped in some more air and set off once again. "Oh, but it's okay now. You're here. Everything will be alright. Like it was supposed to be. Dad can go off and make his own kids with his new girlfriend. Papa can shun me. And it'll all be alright because – Hallelujah! – the great Stephanie Plum has returned to reclaim her throne! Well, I'm sorry. It may not have been the most normal life, but I damn sure preferred my life before you showed up again!"

The next thing I knew she was storming past me in the hallway. I instinctively reached out and grabbed her upper arm, dragging her toward me. She looked up at me, her chest heaving, her eyes bright with tears she wouldn't allow herself to shed. "You don't mean any of what you just said," I told her softly, because sometimes teenagers need to be told what they really think. "I know you. You're not really upset with your mother. You're upset with the current situation. You're upset because Papa is in hospital. But most of all, the reason you're so upset right this very moment is because you hurt yourself by saying those things to you mother. I know, she used to be the same with her own mother."

She blinked in a slightly surprised fashion as she processed my words. The moment I saw the dawning on her face, it was buried in my chest and her arms wrapped around me. "I'm sorry, Grandpa!" she wailed. "I- I-..." Lifting her head, she met my gaze with despair. "I'm a horrible person," she hiccupped.

"Of course you're not," I said briskly, tugging a lock of her hair as I brushed it behind her ear. "You're just stressed. And worried. And confused. And it's okay to be all those things. You just need to-."

"Oh, God!" she interrupted. "Mama's gonna hate me!"

"She doesn't hate you," I soothed, rubbing circles on her back as she gripped me tighter. "She'll understand."

"What if she doesn't?"

Setting her at arm's length, I wiped the tears from her face with the hanky I kept in my pocket. "She will," I stated firmly. "Because if she doesn't, then I've failed her as a father and you as a grandfather. Now go in there and apologise, then get your butt over to the hospital and demand an explanation."

Ranger's POV

"What the hell are you doing here?" I seethed, trying to bring myself to a more upright position. Whether out of concern for my well being or concern that I would actually succeed and therefore be in a situation where harming the new comer was more possible I don't know, but Tank pushed my shoulders back down onto the bed. I glared at him and he hastily began fiddling with the remote control. Before long I was in a mostly upright position, staring at the easy going grin that was plastered across Diesel's face.

"I thought you might like some company," he shrugged, slouching into a chair that was a safe distance away from my bed. "I heard you haven't had many visitors since you've been here."

I gritted my teeth. This man had a habit of getting under my skin. "Bull shit," I countered. "I've had plenty of visitors. My entire family has been to see me." Why was I feeling that I needed to explain myself to him? It was a ridiculous notion. I blame the drugs they've had me on. "Why are you here?"

"Can't a guy visit another guy in hospital without having ulterior motives?" Diesel asked.

Fed up with Diesel already, and appalled with my apparent lack of any kind of tolerance at this time, I turned my attention to Tank, Bobby and Lester who were standing over near the door, like they were waiting for the perfect opportunity to dash out of it and escape my wrath. "What the hell is he doing here?"

They all looked at each other and shrugged. "We caught him in the seventh floor foyer stacking boxes, and thought we'd bring him to you for punishment."

"Was that my punishment, or his?" I asked sarcastically.

Diesel chuckled, and answered, "Clearly it's yours. I'm having a great time."

I glared at him. "You won't be when I'm through with you. It's your fault Gen thinks I hate her." And it was. From what I'd gathered in the past few days, if it hadn't been for the fact that Diesel had popped Gen over to the hospital, she wouldn't have been there when I awoke, completely groggy and claimed not to have a daughter. This was all Diesel's fault.

"I can see why you'd think that," he said casually, leaning back in the chair. "But I take very little responsibility, since I wasn't the one who purportedly disowned her."

"I didn't disown her!" I exclaimed. "I was barely conscious! I had no idea what I was saying!"

"That's not how I hear it."

Without Tank standing close by to push me back against the supporting mattress, I managed to throw my legs over the side of the bed and bring myself to a semi standing position, still leaning against the bed before anyone even thought to stop me. I kept my face void of the pain that shot through my abdomen as I beckoned Diesel over to me. "Come closer and say that again," I challenged.

As he took his time standing and making his way over, I saw rather than heard Bobby open the door to speak to my guard. Les was making his way around to the other side of the bed and Tank was taking hesitant steps toward me.

"Ah, Ric, I think you should lie back down," he said. "Not sure it's good for you to be standing at the moment." He was probably right. I could feel a slight pounding in my head that made me sway a little, even with the bed behind me supporting most of my weight, but I was determined and there were few things that could stop me when I was this determined. "You've gone really pale."

I motioned for Diesel to come closer and he – perhaps stupidly – didn't hesitate. The moment he was within reach I clasped my hands around his neck. "This is all your fault!" I seethed. "Every last detail in this sodding situation is your fucking fault!"

"Mr. Manoso!" I heard one of my nurses exclaim as she entered the room. "Unhand that man at once and get back into bed!" Hadn't she learned already that I don't take orders from anyone? "You'll tear out your stitches and slow your recovery!" she warned, and I could see her pressing frantically on a button by the door. "This isn't good for you."

My vision went a grey around the edges as I stared at Diesel's face going red. I knew I should do as she said, but I couldn't quite bring myself to let go. The changing colour of his complexion was mesmerising. Pink. Red. Purple. The next thing I knew the room was crowded. I glanced away from Diesel's face for a moment to gauge the new comers and felt my hands being prised away from Diesel's throat. There were more men in the room, and I was pretty sure it wasn't just double vision. The din of the small space filled with so many people all shouting orders to one another and their walkie talkies was immense. I could barely stand it. In fact, I could stand it so little that I suddenly found myself being lifted back into bed by two burly orderlies.

Grateful for the reduced strain, I allowed my head to fall back on the pillow and closed my eyes, sinking into what I hoped was merely and exhausted sleep and not something more life threatening.

When I became aware of the world again it was to the tune of a soft conversation. The voices were familiar and feminine. At first I just assumed they were my nurses arguing – quietly for a change – over who would tend to me, but the smile that forced itself onto my face and the warmth that filled my heart said that I was wrong. I listened intently for a few moments, trying to pick out words and familiar inflections, but my ears wouldn't cooperate properly. Eventually, I rolled my head to the side where one of the voices was coming from and opened my eyes.

"Babe," I croaked, still smiling.

"You're such an idiot," she laughed, shaking her head at me.

I felt my smile straighten out at how true her words really were. I was the biggest idiot there was. "I know," I told her, trying to keep the lamentation out of my voice as it croaked out my words. She said nothing as I reached for the magic button that would raise my bed to a sitting position. "Could you get me some water?" I requested.

She handed me a glass with a straw which I removed before sipping some of the cool soothing liquid. Her eyes were intent on mine as she took the glass back and set it on the table. "What possessed you to do it?" she asked. There was no judgement in her voice, only curiosity and a certain amount of concern.

I sighed. "I wasn't aware," I muttered, not really wanting to admit the truth, especially to the woman who had once likened me to a superhero. "I didn't realise who it was. My mind rebelled and I went into defence mode. If I denied everything she said then the tactics wouldn't work."

"She?" Steph asked, looking confused and I almost sobbed with how much her expression mirrored Gen. "Ranger, I was talking about Diesel. Why would you risk injuring yourself just to strangle him?"

"Oh," I murmured, staring down at the pale sheet that covered me up to my waist. "I thought you were refering to something else." There was silence in the room for a while before I built up the courage to ask, "How is she?"

When she didn't answer after a few seconds, I lifted my gaze to find she was looking across the room, making pointed faces at someone. I followed her line of sight to the end of my bed and just a little beyond and was surprised to find a mini replica of Steph perched on a small table. She was dressed in her school uniform complete with 'awful' shoes and 'horrid' blazer. Her wild curls had been beaten into submission for the most part, all but a few rebellious ringlets secured in a pony tail at the back of her head. One of her knee high socks was drooping and I watched as she absent mindedly pulled it back up while making faces back at her mother.

My chest tightened at that_. Her mother_. And they seemed to be more comfortable in each other's presence than the last itme I'd seen them together.

I glanced back to Steph as she made a head jerking motion in my direction and almost missed the wide-eyed look of a teenage refusing out of the corner of my eye.

"I thought I taught you more subtle means of silent communication," I said before I'd even thought about it.

"Sure," she said, almost sarcastically. "But it seems you didn't teach Mama. She can't even receive." I noticed that while she'd clearly spoken those few words to me, she was still staring with determination at Steph.

"I was never a good student," Steph said, sounding awkard. "Was I, Ranger?"

"No," I agreed. "You never did learn to stay out of trouble, did you?" She sent a sheepish smile in my direction. "I see you've been influencing our daughter in that department as well."

Steph looked like she wanted to say something about my 'our daughter' comment, but she didn't get a chance to before Gen's words cut through the air.

"Well, maybe if you asked me to go into hiding, rather than having your men drug and kidnap me, I'd be more inclined to do what you want," she spat.

"Magenta," Steph warned, surprising me with how much she sounded like a practiced mother with that one word.

"You felt the same way, Mama," she said defensively.

"I know," Steph replied patiently. "But remember what we spoke about on the way over."

Magenta merely sighed and nodded, avoiding my eyes once more. What had they spoken about that had her putting aside her obvious anger and frustration? "If you need to yell at me you can," I said. "You know that's always been okay." She snorted and shook her head, but said nothing. "I'm sorry for forcing you away," I told her earnestly. "I'm sorry for not allowing you to exert your free will. And most of all, I'm sorry for saying the things I said the other day. I waited a moment to make sure she understood. "I didn't mean it. Hell, I didn't know what I was saying." She looked up at me, finally, with those big blue eyes that I'd always had a hard time saying no to. They were bright with unshed tears and full of hope and love. "Please, Genny-Babe," I pleaded. "Please forgive me. The last few days have been hell for me sitting here wondering if I'd damaged our relationship irrevocably. I couldn't live with myself if I knew you'd hate me forever."

"I couldn't do that," she said quietly, but with such intensity that I knew it was the truth. "Hating you is that hardest thing I've ever tried to do. I tried so hard to hate you, to lessen the hurt, but I couldn't."

I expected the dam to break at any moment, releasing a flood of tears, but she was amazingly calm. I opened my arms to her, silently asking for her embrace. She immediately shimmied off her perch and came around the side of the bed closest to Steph and stopped. I understood why when she allowed her gaze to wander down to the bandage, stark white against my tan skin.

"I don't want to hurt you," she whispered, glancing up at my face through her thick lashes.

"You won't," I assured her. "Please, Genny-Babe. Just let me hold you."

To my utter relief, she nodded and climbed carefully up onto the bed to sit beside me, leaning gingerly against my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her, burying my face in her curls, willing myself to keep my emotions in check. "I love you so much, Genny-Babe," I told her.

"I love you too, Papa." My heart swelled at her words, partly because it always did when she said them, but also because it meant that I'd succeeded in raising a child who knew how to forgive.

I heard a wet sniff and pulled away slightly to look dfown at the budding young woman who would always be my baby girl. Her eyes were dry. We shared a slightly confused look as the sniff came again, followed by the blowing of a nose. As one, we turned our attention to Steph, who was bawling her eyes out in the chair next to us.

"Babe," I said.

"Shut up! It's just so beautiful!" she wailed, dabbing at her eyes and sending us a watery smile. "And you call her Genny-Babe! It's just so... so sweet!" Some more tears leaked from her eyes and I beckoned her over to join in the hug. "I love you guys so much," she hiccupped, giving no signs of hesitation as she threw her arms around us both.

Carter's POV

I heard the distinct sound of a woman crying and poked my head inside the door to Ranger's hospital room. I'd been standing guard all afternoon in relative amusement as people came and went. Magenta and her newfound mother had arrived about an hour ago, just as Ranger was being deposited back in bed and Diesel was being led away to be checked out.

As I took in the room on a glance and pulled my head back out, I was relieved to find Magenta firmly in the embrace of Ranger with her mother just wrapping her arms around them.

"Better call Lester and Bobby," I told Tom who was slouched in a chair across the hall. "Looks like Operation Reconcilliation has been made redundant."

* * *

_It is both a joyous and sad occassion that I inform you that the next update shall be the last. For now, let me know what you think._


	65. Happily Ever After

**Here it is, folks, the very last chapter ever of Twice as Much as Half. I'm so sad to see this story end. I got so much enjoyment out of writing it. Thanks to everyone who's read and reveiwed over the years (yes, it's been going for YEARS). I hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have.**

**Epilogue**

_I used to fantasise about being a normal kid. It was all prompted by the beginning of my school career when I realised that my situation wasn't normal. In my dreams I'd have a mother who was a housewife and a father who worked in a local factory and they both loved and adored me and each other very much. In the evenings Mom would make pot roast or meat loaf and we'd all sit down to eat as a family at exactly six o'clock without fail. The family dog would greet me at the door with face licks when I arrived home from school each day and sleep across my feet at night. Mom taught me to cook and sew and we would have tea parties in the living room with all my dolls as guest. Dad would take me to the park on weekends and help me climb the monkey bars even though Mom said I was too little. When it stormed we'd sit together in the kitchen playing board games by candle light and when I had nightmare I would crawl between them in their big comfy bed and they would wrap their arms around me until I fell asleep again, whispering words of love and comfort._

_The reality of my situation is that my father is a homicide detective with the Trenton Police Department and my father is the owner of a security company named Rangeman. Yes, I have two fathers and they're complete opposites. Dad (the detective) was a strictly by the books kind of guy, he was all rules and regulations and you can't do that it's illegal. Papa, on the other hand, encourages me to try new things all the time, like last year when he introduced me to marijuana as a try-it-at-home-and-they'll-be-less-likely-to-try-it-outside-and-get-in-trouble kind of manoeuvre. Sometimes I think he does these things just to get on Dad's nerves, other times I think that they've just always been under each other's skin anyway and there wasn't a lot either one of them could do about it. After all, old habits die hard._

_There is one thing we all agree on, though. Mama was never going to find out about the marijuana._

_Up until recently, Mama finding out about anything that Papa or Dad do with me wasn't even a plausible option, since she was... well, she was dead to us, at least we thought she was dead. But a few of weeks ago we found out that she wasn't (dead, that is) and everything pretty much turned upside down from there._

_As you can imagine, the living arrangements of my ever growing patchwork family are now more complicated than ever. We all (by which I mean, the adults) decided before Papa was even released from hospital that for the time being at least I should continue to stay with him in his seventh floor apartment. This was for a number of reasons. First, all my stuff was there and they didn't feel that uprooting my entire existence mid-term was a wise idea, especially with how easily I lose and forget things when they're not in plain sight. Second, Mama and Ella thought Papa needed someone to keep an eye on him and make sure he wasn't overdoing it in his own home. That was my job each morning and evening during the week. To make sure Papa was taking the appropriate amount of rest. Tank would keep an eye on him during the work day, because Papa insisted that he immediately immerse himself back in the business the moment he was allowed to go home. We allowed him to only because it was in the same building he lived in, otherwise I think there would have been a lot more protesting. _

_Weekends I spend with Mama in her little rented house on the edge of town doing the types of things you expect of a mother and daughter who have been estranged for thirteen or so years. We sat around telling stories about our lives. Well, no, it was a lot deeper than that. We were learning how to co-exist. Mama was learning how to deal with the responsibilities involved with being the mother of a teenage daughter and I was learning how to interact with a mother. Something I'd never had the opportunity to do before now. It was going pretty well. _

_Last weekend we went to the mall for some serious mother-daughter bonding time (apparently it's not serious bonding if shopping isn't involved). We had a great time picking out things for each other to try on. I deliberately picked out some outrageous outfits for myself – stuff I wouldn't normally touch with a ten foot pole – just to see how she'd react. I have to admit she did a lot better than some of my friend's mothers. Apparently mothers tend to get a bit irate if their teenage girls come out dressed in skanky, sequin covered, booty dresses and four inch heeled ankle boots. Mama handled my presentation with aplomb. _

_When I opened the door to the change room and stepped out with confidence and sass she barely blinked an eye. "It's a bit sparkly, isn't it?" she commented after a moment of critical analysis. "I mean," she'd paused here, tilting her head to the side. "It's not very practical."_

_At that I'd sent her a small smile. "Tell me what you really think," I'd prompted. "You're allowed to hate it."_

_She'd hissed out a breath between her teeth and shook her head. "I'm really not a fan."_

_"Good," I'd told her, nervously tugging on the hem. "I don't like it either. Too short."_

_"Too sparkly."_

_"Too impractical."_

_"Too not you."_

_We'd shared a smile at that before she pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against. "Stay there, I'll grab something else for you to try on."_

_So things with Mama were going quite well. She knew me well enough that she wasn't constantly second guessing herself with her actions like she had in first couple of weeks. She was confident enough in her knowledge of my eating habits that she could plan and prepare meals without having to consult me about what I would and wouldn't eat. Not that there's much I wouldn't eat. _

_Apparently, the fact that Mama could cook was a big deal. As a kind of house warming Mama had invited the Papa, Dad, Tiffany, and a few of the Lost Boys over for dinner and all of them, with the exception of Tiffany, had gone to inspect the kitchen to make sure she wasn't hiding take out containers or a chef or something after tasting her cooking._

_Speaking of Tiffany, she was now officially my future __step mom... ish... What do you call the fiancée of one of your two male guardians when neither of them is biologically related to you? I don't know, and it doesn't really matter anyway since Tiff baulked at the first mention of the label. I'm under firm instructions to just call her Tiff. So that brought the tally of parental figures in my life up to four and aside from the fact that they were spread over four locations (for the time being, until Tiff's lease ends and then it'll be three) it was looking almost like a normal family with divorced parents that remarried. The figures were the same at least. I think that's where the similarities end. I don't think I'd survive with a normal family though._

_Speaking of normal, the guy that was causing all the problems? The same guy who was trying to kill Mama back when I was a baby? Yeah, he's far from normal. Apparently he had some kind of weird crush on Mama, and when I say weird I really mean it. He was under the impression that he was supposed to be with Mama or something. Like, he thought that by Mama having me she was cheating on him and he didn't take kindly to that. That's why he tried to kill her. As far as he was concerned if he couldn't have her, nobody could. He tried to kill her back then and when Diesel and Janelle helped Mama stage her death he saw it as a success. He went out celebrating after he heard the news and did some really stupid stuff that landed him in jail. Of course, he blamed Mama for that as well, so when he was finally released a few weeks ago he sought revenge on her, despite knowing that she was long dead. When he saw me at the mall with Dad that day he'd lost it. _

_So anyway, to cut a long story short, Mr. Killer Dude, whom I am not allowed to know the name of for some reason – I assume the same reason Papa didn't allow me to know everything about Mama all those years, he thought I was too young – was disposed of in an orderly fashion two days after Papa came home from hospital. Papa was a little bitter that he was not the one to 'dispose' of him, but he settled for knowing that his men would do the job well. I can only assume what was done to Mr. Killer Dude prior to his death, and knowing how protective the Lost Boys are of me and Mama, I'd say it was rather violent and torturous. But hey, what goes around comes around. He tortured and killed Mama, so I don't see why his treatment should be any different, even if Mama's death was only fake._

"Hey Antisocial," Tank called from the doorway of my bedroom at Mama's house distracting me from my laptop. "What are you doing up here all along, looking studious?"

I smiled up at him, hitting the save button without looking at the screen. "I just had some thoughts I needed to get out of my head," I told him closing the Word document and the laptop. "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you. Everyone's downstairs waiting for you." My face must have said how confused I was because he rolled his eyes and explained. "It's your birthday. The house is full of relatives and pseudo-relatives. We're waiting for you, you know, so you can open your presents."

Letting out a small sigh, I set the computer aside and checked my appearance in the full length mirror. I was in my favourite pair of cut off sweatpants and one of the oversized band shirts I'd commandeered from Mama's wardrobe. My hair was predictably messy, sticking up at odd angles. It was going to take some time and a little bit of miracle to make myself presentable. "I wish someone would have let me know we were actually going gather to celebrate my birthday," I said to Tank who was already rifling through the clothes in my closet. "I would have chosen my outfit more carefully."

Tossing a dress across the room so that it landed on the bed, Tank countered with what should have been an obvious assumption for me to make. "It's your birthday, Gen, what makes you think we wouldn't celebrate it?" He was now sifting through my assortment of shoes. "Hell, I've been working on your present for over a month."

Sighing again as I picked up the dress to inspect it I mentioned, "I just figured we'd keep it low key this year, considering everything that's happened recently. I mean, everyone has a lot on their plates at the moment." As I really looked at the dress for the first time I realised that I didn't recognise it, which wasn't surprising, since it was a dress and I hardly ever wore dresses. "Where did this come from?" I asked him.

"Your wardrobe," he said, like it should have been obvious, and I guess he was right.

"Where in my wardrobe?" Surely I would have noticed something that wasn't mine sitting amongst my favourite things, especially something that was as pretty, but at the same time completely out of character for me, as this dress. The navy blue stretch-cotton fabric fell in delicate folds from just under the bust. A shimmery little motif was repeated over the entire surface. IT looked very girly and I'm sure I would have remembered buying it.

"It was right at the end." He pulled out a pair of navy blue converse sneakers and tossed them toward me. "Just put it on."

But before I could argue he was tugging my t-shirt over my head, like he used to when I was five. He was so lucky I was comfortable with my body and used to being around the Lost Boys in nothing but a crop top and shorts. In a well practised move he had the dress over my head almost before I'd registered my lack of top. He then handed me a pair of black leggings, told me to put them on and started gathering me hair into its usual mussed up ponytail. Once I was dressed I looked at my image in the mirror once more. The difference was mind boggling.

"I'm wearing a dress, Tank," I whispered in shock. As you may have already guessed by now, dresses are not my preferred attire. I like to keep my legs as separate entities. Pants were more convenient for that kind of objective, plus it meant that I didn't have to worry about flashing people if I decided to climb a fence or sprawl on the floor.

"You look like a girl," he agreed, swiftly ushering me out of my room and down to the living room.

The moment I entered the room I was engulfed in an explosion of sound. I could only assume they were wishing me a happy birthday, because I couldn't make out a single word as they all shouted at once. I was still trying to comprehend the amount of people crammed into the small space when Tank started pushing me toward the nearest cluster of people. It was Ella and Louis along with Auntie Mare and a couple of the Lost Boys. As I was thrust into their midst they grabbed me, passing me around for them all to hug. After that group I was surrounded by my grandparents from all three sides. They squeezed me hard, dropping affectionate kisses on my cheeks and forehead. This was followed by Tio Eloy, Tia Celia, Bobby, Lester, Tom and Carter all embracing me in varying degrees of tightness.

When Carter loosened his hold on me he was grinning. "Shall I call you Bat-Girl, then?" he asked, chuckling at his own joke. When I sent him a confused expression he pointed to one of the shimmery marks on my dress. "Batman," he said simply.

I looked down at my shoulder, scrutinising the shiny spots and sure enough, they were in the shape of the Batman logo. I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah," I told him. "I guess you could call me Bat-Girl."

He grinned a little wider and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. "Happy Birthday, Bat-Girl," he said as I tried to contain my elation. Before I could do anything stupid and potentially embarrassing, though, he'd passed me off to the lass group.

Dad slung his arm around m shoulder the moment I was in reach. "Happy Birthday, Munchkin," he said merrily as Tiff leaned on from the other side to give me a quick, slightly-less-awkward-than-a-month-ago hug.

"Dad," I complained. "I'm fifteen now. How can you justify calling me Munchkin?"

"Simple," he said. "You'll always be my little munchkin."

I groaned as he released me with a gentle shove. The momentum he caused lead me straight to Mama and Papa. Papa was sitting on a bar stool, though I think it was safe to assume that it wasn't his decision. He'd been recovering really well, but he still had moments when he went rather pale and light headed. He claimed it didn't hurt anymore, but he the way he would cringe a bit when he moved sometimes made me think he was lying. Or maybe he was just living in Denial Land for a while. I know he liked to deny when he was getting tired.

"Genny-Babe," he smiled, using the affectionate name in an attempt to distract me. It didn't quite work.

"How's your pain, Papa?" I asked, noting the small tension lines around his mouth. "Do you need something?"

"I'm fine. I took some, they just haven't kicked in yet."

I looked to Mama for confirmation and she nodded. "It's a special day," she informed me. "He's being more cooperative about submitting to his limitations." With a cheeky smile she added. "Look. I even managed to convince him to sit down."

Mirroring her smile with a sly glance to Papa, I said, "Maybe I should make a habit out of turning fifteen over the next couple of months. He might recover more quickly then."

"I'm recovering much faster than expected," he countered, sounding almost indignant. Yep, he'd definitely taken his meds. They tended to dissolve his tough guy act some. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, Genny-Babe," he said in my ear.

When I turned to Mama she was smiling softly. "Happy Birthday," she said, reaching out and tucking a curl behind my ear. "I can't tell you how proud I am of how you've turned out."

"It's customary in this family that everyone hugs the birthday girl," I informed her, opening my arms in invitation.

She accepted right away, but the moment her arms were around me I heard Tank clear his voice, calling for everyone's attention. Mama loosened her hold a little so that I could lean against Papa while she still had her arm around me. We all looked at Tank expectantly.

"I've debated a lot in the last week as to whether or not I would reveal my present first or last," he announced. " If I go first I risk overshadowing everyone else's gift. Something I normally wouldn't dare do, especially since I know Steph has been working so hard on her present to Gen. However, I'm not a patient man. So I've decided to claim the first spot on the birthday present convoy." I barely had time to disengage from Mama and Papa as Tank tossed a flat, brightly wrapped package my way.

I caught it and quickly began unwrapping it to reveal the framed compilation of photos. Every single shot had three things in common. 1) I was in them, 2) None of them were posed, and 3) Everyone was smiling in them. There were pictures of me with each of the Lost Boys, sometimes in groups, sometime just one of them. There were pictures of me and each of my grandparents. Me and Papa. Me and Dad (and Tiff). Me and Mama. And right in the centre was a picture of me, Mama and Papa. They were smiling at each other like no one else in the world existed and I was grinning at them.

When I looked up from the frame Tank was standing right in front of me. "That's not the entire present," he informed me quietly, pulling a yellow envelope from his back pocket. "Inside this envelope is the name of your father."

At this point, can I just say _Holy crap!_? I totally had not been expecting this. I'd already resigned myself to never knowing my biological father, but I was okay with that. Instead of having one absent biological father, I had two completely awesome fathers who would and have done absolutely anything for me. In my opinion, it didn't matter who donated the sperm that created me. What made me who I was today was the people who had raised me thus far and who would continue to raise me and be there for me for the rest of my life.

I took the envelope from Tank and stared down at it as I turned it in my hands. "I don't need to know," I informed the people around me. "I'm happy with the parents I have."

"Knowing who your biological father is won't change the relationship you have with any of us," Dad informed me. "Why not just open the envelope and look at the name?"

"I'm scared," I admitted.

"You shouldn't be," Tank said. "Knowing this one fact changes absolutely nothing."

I nodded and began tearing open the envelope with shaking hands. Once it was open I paused to take a deep breath before taking out the single piece of paper and shaking it flat. There were just two words written on the page. Dad and Tank had been right. They changed nothing. It was just a name.

"Rick Hardman," I said allowed, and the absolute silence in the room ensured that my quiet words carried to every member of my very extended family gathered there.

Behind me, I felt Papa shaking and quickly turned to make sure he was alright. My mind was assuming semi-rage or jealousy as I spun, but when I caught sight of his face I knew it was far from it. He was laughing. I just had time to open my mouth to ask what was so funny when Tank started speaking again.

"Now, I decided to run a little background check on this Rick Hardman, in case you were curious about him and here's what I found out." He paused to clear his throat and straighten his shoulders before reciting the facts. "Rick Hardman grew up in Newark, though the details of his childhood are sparse, we know that he had many dealings with people he probably shouldn't have been dealing with. Sources say he joined the army at seventeen, lying about his age. There are no records of Rick Hardman after the age of twenty-five when he donated sperm in Ohio while on leave. The sperm bank profile says he was five foot ten with straight black hair. He was of Cuban descent, muscled and, from the notes the receptionist took in the extra section, extremely hawt."

Now Lester and Bobby were laughing as well. I didn't get it. This was the man who's genes I shared and they were laughing? "What's so dang funny?" I demanded, noting that Tank was grinning widely. "It's just a name and a few facts."

"Would you like to meet Rick Hardman?" Papa asked, sounding like he was attempting to control himself. "I can organise it. I know him quite well."

I turned to glare at him. "I don't need to know the man, Papa," I said sternly. "I have you and Dad and Mama. What more can I want?"

His laughter stopped and he just smiled at me in an appreciative way. "A little over a month ago, when I found out you were conceived of a sperm donor from a bank in Ohio, it sparked a memory. I hadn't acknowledged this memory in years, but I knew the moment heard that the man I was remembering had to be your father. So I took the liberty of getting the guys in the lab to run some DNA tests."

My eyes widened. "How long have you known who my father is?" I demanded. I can't believe he'd kept it from me.

"A bout a month," he admitted. "I was looking for the right time to tell you. I'd planned on telling you tonight, but Tank's beat me to it with a deliberate half story, so I may as well finish it now."

"Half story?" I asked, sounding confused once more. It seemed to be a permanent state for me when I was around these guys. "What do you mean a half story? What didn't Tank say?"

"Rick Hardman is the alias of a man you know. He hasn't used the name in twenty-three years."

The moment he said it, a memory of my own was sparked.

_I was_ _standing in Tank's office doorway listening to one side of a telephone conversation._

_"Yes," he said, "I understand you have strict privacy policies. But I think you should understand that I work for Rangeman." Pause. "Yes, that's right, ma'am. The security specialists. So as you can probably imagine, this is a matter of security for one of our clients." Another pause. "I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am. But if you could check your records for any... donations from a Ricardo or Carlos Manoso about twenty-three years ago, it would be a great help to our investigation." A moment of silence. "Of course, I'll hold." He then glanced up and noticed me watching him._

_"What are you doing?" I asked, stepping a little further into the room. _

_He quickly slid the memo pad into the pocket of his cargo pants. "Nothing," he said innocently, which I knew meant that he was anything but innocent. "Just checking on some things."_

_"What kind of donations did Papa give over twenty years ago?" I asked._

_"I'm not at liberty to say," he informed me._

"Oh my God," I whispered. "Papa." I snapped my head up to meet his eyes. "Papa, you're Rick Hardman, aren't you?"

Papa simply nodded his head, which emitted an awed sounding "Holy Crap" from Mama. We looked over at her. "I sure can pick 'em, can't I?" she asked shakily, looking from me to Papa and back with wide, disbelieving eyes.

The room erupted in laughter and I threw my arms around my father the way I had been doing my entire life. I was half laughing, half crying when I pulled away a few moments later. "What kind of name is Rick Hardman?" I asked, shaking my head, but I was distracted when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Dad and Tiffany had retreated to the other side of the room and were making their way toward the exit. "Wait!" I called, rushing through the crowd of people to get to them. "Where are you going?" I demanded when I caught up to them.

Dad smiled sadly down at me. "You've got your father now," he said. "You don't need me anymore."

I scoffed at that. "Oh, hell no," I said, borrowing the phrase from Mama's vocab. "You don't get off that easy. Just because Papa is biologically related to me doesn't mean that I don't need you. I love you and I can't imagine what my life would be like if you weren't in it." I paused here for a moment. "And I don't want to find out. No matter what, you'll always be my Dad."

"Of course," Dad agreed. "If that's what you want."

I grinned at him. "It really is," I told him. "Now you and Tiff need to get married and make me some step brothers and sisters." Before they could react I spun around a skipped my way over to the table in the middle of the room that held all my pretty pretty present. "Who's should I open first?" I yelled to the room. Immediately, there were two presents thrust under my nose. I recognised the hands holding them as Mama's and grinned up at her.

"Happy Second Birthday, Maggie," she whispered, kissing me on the cheek and allowing me to take the bigger of the two present from her. It was wrapped in My Little Pony paper and sported a big pink bow. "I bought this before I had to give you up," she explained. I tore open the paper to reveal a pink, soft toy. A unicorn. "Better late than never?" she asked and we both laughed.

"It's cute," I told her. "I really appreciate it."

"Daddy assured me you would," she said. "I was going to just donate it to charity when I found it in one of the boxes while unpacking, but he convinced me you'd love it. It's not too girly, is it?"

I looked pointedly down at the dress I was wearing. "I think I can handle a little girly," I informed her.

"Good, because I want you to wear this." She handed me her other present and I ripped it open. Inside was a jewellery box containing a fine gold chain that held a small charm in the shape of a bomb. "Perfect for the daughter of the Bombshell Bounty Hunter."

Without hesitation, I put the necklace on gave her a quick hug. "I love it, Mama," I told her. "I'll wear it always."

"I hope there's room on that neck for me too," Papa said, coming up behind me, unclasping the back of the necklace and then securing it again. When he let go, it felt a little heavier. I looked down and there, settled between my breasts, right next to the symbol of my mother was a small golden render of the Batman logo. "No way," I breathed, spinning around to face him. "Now I have my mother and my father with me forever."

Two hours later all the presents were opened and stashed either on my body or in my room. The moment I was through ripping bits of paper, throwing them over my should and thanking people for the contents Grandpa had announced that he was going to light the grill. Grandma had followed to the kitchen with Abuela and Nan where they started preparing salads. Slowly, everyone filtered out into the backyard where someone had set up tables and chairs.

I was staring at the space, wondering how I could have missed them setting it up, since my bedroom looked out onto the back of the house, when the doorbell rang. A moment later Meli, Hailey and a few more friends were gathered around me on the porch. They all wished me happy birthday and a few of them rushed off to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the yard. The doorbell rang again and my Plum cousins sauntered past followed by Aunt Valerie and Uncle Albert. Each wished me well before moving on the backyard. A few minutes later the rest of my Tias and Tios came through, followed by my cousins.

Looking out at the crowd of people, I felt my heart swell, knowing I was loved by each and every one of them. I watched my friends dancing spastically to the Latin beats Lester had put on and laughed at how they contrasted from Tia Ana and Tio Harvey with their refined steps. Kaleb and Josiah were eying off the DJ table, probably trying to work out how they could cause the most trouble my fiddling with it. I scanned the crowd, glad to see that Tio Marco was keeping an eye on the boys from a nearby table.

I was searching for Mama and Papa when little Clara came up to me and held out a card that she had obviously made herself. It had colourful flowers and butterflies on the front. Inside it read _To Gen, Happy Berthday, Love Clara._ I hugged and thanked her and she kissed me on the cheek in return. "Have you seen Tio Ricky?" I asked, carefully using the name she would know him by to avoid confusion.

She nodded and pointed to edge of the house and the path that lead to the front then she surprised me by saying her first words in years. "With a lady."

Grinning, I took her hand and lead her over to Tia Celia where she was talking with Tia Tamerin, Aunti Mare and Aunt Valerie. "Clara just informed me that Papa is out the front with Mama," I told her. "In spoken words," I added and while all attention turned to Clara and her broken silence, I hurried off to find my parents.

As I approached the front corner of the house I slowed and made sure I was pressed against the wall so I wouldn't be easily spotted. I leaned my head around the corner and watched my parents speaking in low whispers. I had to strain my ears to make out what they were saying.

"I'd like to give us a try," Papa told her. "I was stupid back then when I told you my life didn't lend itself to relationships. I was lost when you skipped town that night without telling me. And I was devastated when I thought you were dead. Raising our daughter has taught me that life doesn't always turn out the way you think it will. If I can fit Gen in my life then I can sure as hell fit you in."

"I don't just want to _fit_ in your life, Ranger," Mama said, a small frown creasing her brow. "I need more than that if you want this to work out how I think you want it to work out."

"And how is that?" Papa asked, stepping a little closer.

"You want me to marry you and move in with you and -."

Papa placed a finger over her lips, effectively cutting her off. "I'm not going to pressure you into anything. Just because I'm Gen's father does not mean I expect you to marry me or move in with me. I just want to give us a chance. I love you, Steph. I've always loved you. I never stopped loving you, not even when you died and left me to make a shambles out of raising your pride and joy."

"She's not a shambles," Mama said absently as Papa raised her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. Usually I would have made barfing noises at how sickly sweet the scene was, but I was floating on cloud nine at the moment and couldn't work up the right amount of disgust.

"Allow me to court you," Papa insisted, staring into her eyes. "We'll take things slow. Go at your pace. I promise you won't regret it."

"For God's sake, Stephanie," someone yelled from inside the house. "Let the man date you; I don't wanna see him grovelling!"

"If you don't want to see me grovelling you shouldn't be spying on private moments in my life, Edna," Papa called back and I heard a window slam shut before Papa returned his gaze to Mama. "Please?"

Mama was staring at him, a torn expression on her face. "What about Magenta?"

It was then that I decided to reveal my presence. I stepped out into the light with my arms crossed over my chest, the fingers on one hand fiddling with the pendants on my necklace. "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to consult me on all your decisions?" I asked her. "Just say yes and let Papa 'court you'." I air quoted the last two words, shaking my head and how old fashioned they were.

"You're okay with it?" they asked in unison.

"Gosh yes!" I exclaimed. "It's a dream come true!"

"Then I'll allow you to court me, good sir," Mama said, giggling.

"Great!" I said. "Just give me a minute to get out of hearing and seeing range before you start making out. You can be together but I don't need to see that yet." They laughed at my retreated back as I made my way back to my birthday party where I joined in the spastic dancing. Mama and Papa followed a few minutes later, holding hands just in time for Grandpa to announce that it was time to eat.

I sat at a small table with Mama, Papa, Dad, Tiffany and Tank, each of us munching on homemade hamburgers and salad. I'd just taken a large, unladylike bite of my hamburger when Papa said grabbed my attention with a, "Hey Genny-Babe," and then proceeded to claim Mama's mouth in a passionate kiss.

_This is going to be my life from now on_, I thought with a groan and a well practiced eye roll and everyone at the table laughed.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Gen," Dad said.

* * *

**And so ends the story. Leave me a review and look out for a new story containing alternates from this one! Alternate endings, scenes, story threads I dismissed. Some crack. Just for fun.**


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